


Casicorn

by everandanon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Detective Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sharing a Bed, Temporarily Mute Castiel, Unicorn Castiel, vigilante Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 56,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21908827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everandanon/pseuds/everandanon
Summary: When Detective Dean Winchester suddenly finds himself with a new roommate, a mysterious man who doesn’t speak but seems to somehow be connected to the department’s recent vigilante problem, he has no idea what he’s in for. The guy doesn’t know how to work a TV, brush his teeth, or even take a shower, and he stares at Dean all the goddamn time. Not to mention he insists on sleeping in Dean’sbed.While Dean is in it!Weird, right? Except the longer Cas sticks around, the less Dean starts to mind; the more he kind of dreads Cas leaving for good, actually, even though nobody really knows who Cas is or where he came from.And then, one night, Dean happens to witness their vigilante firsthand and realizes he knows Cas even less than he thought . . .(Loosely inspired byThe Little Mermaid)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 145
Kudos: 393
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Cas kills people in this fic.** The people are confirmed (by Cas) sex offenders, Cas is not human, and this is a work of fiction, but it does happen. This story does not explore this moral conundrum in depth, because it is not that kind of story, but it is perfectly understandable to be disturbed by this and uncomfortable reading, so proceed with caution. 
> 
> **A note about the Explicit rating:** This rating is for exactly one poorly-written sex scene I added at the very end, which will be marked and can be skipped.
> 
>  **The Attempted Rape/Non-con and Non-consensual drug use tags:** A full explanation of this is in the end notes.
> 
> This is loosely inspired by The Little Mermaid.
> 
> Fic is 50k~ and has four parts. Barring incident, it should finish posting by the end of the week.
> 
> I wrote this last spring to cheer myself up. For anyone reading that’s having a hard time right now, I hope it cheers you up, too. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of trafficking/non-con prostitution (not Dean or Cas), referenced attempted sexual assault (not Dean or Cas), vigilante Cas, unknown character death (due to vigilante Cas), a complete ignorance of the standard practices of law enforcement, potential (non-sexual) dub-con due to Cas’s angel mojo. See end notes for further details. End notes also have more information about temporarily mute Cas, if you are concerned. Please let me know if I overlooked something.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

“You want me to _what_?”

Henriksen shrugs, leaning against Dean’s desk with a casual air of disinterest.

Dean doesn’t buy it for a minute.

“It’s just for a night or two, till we figure out what to do with him.”

“Uh, if he belongs in custody, put him in a cell, and if he doesn’t, let him go? Did you get knocked on your head or something?”

Victor rolls his eyes, but there’s still something shifty in the way he stands there, hands tucking into his pockets as he shrugs again.

“Technically, we don’t have grounds to hold him. But he’s, uh, he’s not talking, and we don’t know who he is or where to find him if he disappears, except he’s our only witness. We think.”

Dean frowns.

“And that’s not grounds to hold him? Either he’s being uncooperative or he needs medical attention. Where’d he come from, anyway?”

Victor hesitates.

“Think he might be a prostitute. The thing is, there’s nothing besides him being there at all to tie the guy to what happened, but he’s not saying a word and we’re not even sure he understands us. And until we figure somethin’ out, Chief wants you to keep an eye on him.”

“In my _home_? What if he’s dangerous?” Dean narrows his eyes. “And what _did_ happen?”

Dean got back from talking with a potential witness in a homicide case he’s been working less than ten minutes ago, and while he got the impression something big went down, Victor accosted him before he had a chance to ask anyone.

“You know the prostitution case Jo's been working on?”

Dean just looks at him. His desk is right next to Jo’s, and the only way he wouldn’t be as familiar with the case’s progress as he is with his own is if he started dipping into the evidence drugs.

“Well, anyway. She was checking out the place she got a tip about, some factory-slash-warehouse on the South side, when there’s this massive blue light and all the windows just — blow out.”

“Wait, there was an _explosion_? Shit, is she okay?” He likes to think somebody would have called him right away, but maybe—

“She’s just fine,” Victor says, and Dean sags in relief. “And there wasn’t an explosion. No fire, no smoke, no burn damage to the interior or exterior. Just the light and the windows.”

“Okay. That’s . . . weird. Anybody at the scene — besides the mute guy?”

Victor looks grim.

“Couple dozen bodies, several of ‘em known suspects. Eyes burnt right out of their sockets, still smoking. There were some empty shipping containers—” Victor gives him a meaningful look, and Dean doesn’t have to ask to know Jo’s suspicions about trafficking were right— “And then our ‘mute guy.’ Just — standing there, in the middle of the room.”

“And you’re sure he didn’t—”

“Impossible to say, but so far his prints didn’t match any on the bodies, and no weapon was recovered — nothing to suggest he did it.” Victor shakes his head. “All the lights in the place blew out, too. Weirdest fucking thing. They’ve got no idea what caused the . . .” He gestures to his eyes with a shudder. “Anyway, long story short, we’re not sure about other victims, but we’re pretty sure he was being held there. Don’t know why he didn’t run after it happened — probably in shock. Could be a trauma response of some kind.”

Dean swallows.

“And you don’t think he belongs in a hospital?”

Victor rubs his neck, avoiding Dean’s gaze.

“We had someone come check him out. Clean bill of health.”

“Okay, awesome, but I gotta be honest, man, I still don’t get it.”

“Jody was hoping you’d work your Winchester magic, if we could get the guy to go with you.”

Dean pauses, suspicious.

“What do you mean, ‘if’?”

“Just go talk to Jody, okay?”

Victor leaves before Dean can ask anymore questions, and with a sigh, he goes.

Jody doesn’t offer much in the way of explanation before she beckons him to follow her to one of the observation rooms.

Through the mirror, Dean recognizes Jo, busy scratching away at some paperwork on the side of the table nearest to the divide. On the other, there’s a man sitting very straight and still, eyes lowered.

He looks up when they walk in, and even though Dean knows better, he swears the guy looks straight at him.

“That our mute guy?”

Jody gives him a stern look.

“We don’t know if he can talk or not.”

“Uh-huh. But you think he was being kept there.”

“At least brought there. Clean, healthy weight, no obvious signs of abuse. But they couldn’t perform a full exam, so . . . we may not know the whole story.”

“Why couldn’t they perform a full exam?”

Her mouth presses into a grim line, and in the other room, the man tilts his head, though it still seems like he’s staring at Dean, eerie blue eyes focused. The interrogation room lighting washes him out, features stark and pale beneath a shock of dark hair, and Dean stares back for a moment before he shakes his head and returns his attention to Jody.

“He doesn’t like to be touched. I didn’t feel like it was necessary to restrain him,” she adds carefully.

Dean doesn’t say anything to that — he’s not an idiot — and after a moment, Jody continues.

“To be honest, I’m not sure he’ll go with you. So far he’s shown . . . a strong aversion to men.”

Dean’s stomach pitches a little, but he nods shortly.

“Any particular reason you want me to try?”

Jody sighs.

“I don’t think he’s dangerous, but — you’re one of the best equipped to deal with it if he is. You’re also the only one who lives alone and has an apartment up to standard for a safe house — and a spare room. There will be an additional security detail, of course.”

“If he’ll even come with me,” Dean reminds her, and she nods.

“And he might not, in which case we’ll try to arrange something here. It didn’t seem right to put him in holding, though.”

Dean turns back to the interrogation room, chewing at his bottom lip as he watches the man regard the mirror thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I get that. Well. We can give it a shot,” he says, doubtful, and she nods.

“Well, then. Let’s introduce you.”

Two hours later, the guy is sitting in Baby’s passenger seat, unabashedly staring as Dean drives them home.

It’s really starting to creep him out.

Anyway, Dean’s still a little shocked the guy is coming with him in the first place. Jody brought Dean into the room slowly, and the way Jo tensed up and looked at the suspect when she noticed Dean was with her was pretty telling.

Even Jody, ever-professional, almost seemed like she was bracing herself.

But the guy just looked at Dean, stood up and came to a stop about a foot away and looked some more, and then Dean swears to God he almost smiled, barely there and gone in a second.

“This is Dean, one of our officers,” Jo told him softly, and the man turned to her, listening, though there was no clear indication he understood what she was telling him. “You’re going to stay at his place for a few days, if that’s okay.”

He looked at her for another moment, and then he turned back to Dean with expectant eyes. Jo and Jody exchanged uncertain eye contact, and then Jo stood and offered her chair to Dean with a meaningful look.

He took it, and the man returned to his own chair, still watching Dean.

“I’ll get started processing you so you can get out of here, okay?” Jo said, and the man’s gaze briefly flicked to her before moving back to Dean.

After a beat of hesitation, Jo slowly backed out of the room, Jody following at a careful pace, eyes on the guy the whole time.

But he didn’t do anything, just sat quietly, and when it came time to go, he followed Dean without prompting. Dean had to open the passenger door and point at the seat to get him in the car, but he went.

Anyway. It’s not the weirdest day ever, but it’s up there.

They make it there in one piece, a squad car with Garth and Ash trailing behind, and the man looks expectantly at Dean for a good thirty seconds before Dean climbs out of the car, going around to get the door for him again.

“Last time I do this,” he warns, and then feels shitty, because who the fuck knows what this guy’s been through? He doesn’t deserve Dean sassing him.

He frowns a little, but trails after Dean without a fuss.

In the elevator, he palms the reflective doors, pressing fingerprints across the surface with curious eyes, and Dean is so appalled he forgets himself, snatching one of the hands back.

“Dude, you’ll _catch_ something,” he blusters, and the man just looks at him, his other hand slipping from the door.

Dean thinks he sees an eyebrow twitch before he realizes he just grabbed the guy, and he hastily pulls his hand back, coughing.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Sorry, I just — don’t do that, okay? Germs all over it. And the cleaning staff won’t like it.”

In his peripheral, he thinks he sees the man nod, but when Dean looks up, he’s still and silent as ever, staring at Dean’s reflection in the doors.

“So, you probably have no idea what I’m saying—” for some reason, Dean doesn’t really believe this, even though the guy just sits still and watches him talk “— and you probably already got asked this, but do you have a name? Or like — a hand sign? Something I can call you?”

He gets more staring in response, the plate of spaghetti Dean just put in front of him no longer a contender for Most Interesting Thing In the Room, and Dean waits a full minute before he realizes it’s pointless and picks up his fork.

And then the guy moves, bringing a hand up and —

Swiping a finger through the sauce.

“Watch it, it’s still hot,” Dean starts to protest, but the guy is looking down at the table, brow furrowed in concentration as he slowly draws his finger along it.

Dean wonders, not for the first time, if he maybe should have been sent to the psych ward, but he gamely watches the guy paint spaghetti sauce all over his clean kitchen table.

When he draws back, there’s a string of weird symbols there, lines and loops forming a series of incomprehensible sauce marks.

Which are all meaningless to _Dean_ , but — maybe not totally meaningless, in general.

“Is that . . . your name?” he asks, even though the guy is probably just a little nutty after everything he’s been through.

The guy looks up from frowning contemplation of his sauce covered finger, blinking.

And then he smiles.

Dean has the fleeting thought that, actually, this dude is kinda hot, and immediately feels like a creep because of it.

He shoves a napkin toward him— though Dean ends up having to wipe the sauce off, himself — and then reaches for his phone to take a picture of the symbols, just in case.

The truth is, Dean doesn’t even want to think about where this guy came from or what happened to him.

The guy doesn’t eat until Dean does, awkwardly picking up his fork and taking a clumsy, uncertain bite. He must decide he likes it, because he attacks it with gusto after that, and Dean ends up having to wipe his face for him, too. He tries to avoid actually touching any skin while he does, but blue-eyes keeps trying to watch what he's doing, and on reflex, Dean grasps his chin to hold him still while he dabs the sauce away.

He sticks to watching Dean, after that, and it’s uncomfortable as hell.

Once dinner’s cleared away and the dishes are in the sink, Dean instructs him to stay put while he grabs him some pajamas, only to come nearly nose to nose with his eerily silent guest when he turns away from the dresser.

“Personal space, man!” he sputters, and the guy tilts his head before stepping back. It’s still not really far enough.

Dean takes a deep breath.

“Christ. Alright, bathroom.”

When Dean hands him a toothbrush, crisp and new from the package, he just stares at it, utterly blank. They end up brushing their teeth together in awkward silence, the dude carefully mimicking Dean’s motions in the mirror.

Dean has no idea what to make of it. The guy doesn’t look like he has bad dental hygiene, but if Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say he’d never brushed his own teeth before.

He asks him if he wants a shower, gesturing pointedly toward the combination bath, but receives another blank look in response. Jody said he was clean and Dean’s not sure he has the energy for this tonight, so he takes it at face value and hands the man the pajamas, awkwardly instructing him to change.

Instead, he follows Dean out of the bathroom.

“Oh, uh, no, you can — I’m gonna change in my room,” Dean tries to explain, tugging at his shirt and pointing to the bedroom, then taps the pajamas the guy is holding and gestures to the bathroom. “You change in there.”

Blue eyes blink back at him in the dimly lit hallway, and then he moves past Dean into the bedroom, frowning at the bed.

“Actually, that — that’s my room,” Dean says hastily, reaching for his arm and pulling him back into the hall, where he turns him toward the spare. The guy inspects the hand on his arm curiously, but doesn’t protest, and after a moment of silence, Dean leads him into the room, pointing at the bed. “You just — put on the pajamas and . . . get some rest.”

They stare at one another for a moment before Dean shuffles backward.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he says lamely, and after another uncomfortable silence, shuts the door.

 _So_ weird.

Dean checks in with Garth and Ash and texts Sam the spaghetti sauce picture, asking if that’s random bullshit or potentially significant, and then gratefully collapses into bed, asleep within minutes, for a change.

He wakes up two hours later, a dark shape perched on the bed next to him, streetlights glinting off intent blue eyes. Dean reaches for his gun without thinking.

Even in the dark, he can see the way the guy frowns down at it, hands resting loosely on his crossed knees — still clad in slacks, Dean notes — and after a moment’s hesitation, Dean tucks it back under his pillow.

“What are you doin’ in here, man?” he asks tiredly, heart still pounding, and the man regards him silently.

Eventually, Dean turns on the light, climbing out of bed and gesturing for the man to follow. He does, and Dean takes them back down the hall to the guest room, where he pulls the blankets back from the still made bed and then has to bodily guide the man to get in, not even bothering with the pajamas this time.

“Sleep,” he insists, though he suspects it’s pointless, and goes back to his own room.

The sky is just lightening to a severe grey-blue when Dean wakes again. He’s slower to orient himself, this time, but he does remember he doesn’t have to go in today; that’s all he needs to know to decide to roll over and try and go back to sleep.

But then he realizes there’s someone lying next to him, curled beneath the blanket, open eyes dark in the predawn light and watching him.

At least he doesn’t reach for his gun this time.

Dean lies there in silence with his houseguest, tired and disturbed and completely at a loss as to how to respond to this.

Was this like . . . an expectation, for the dude before? Dean doesn’t want to pointlessly yell at someone who can’t even understand him about boundaries, especially since the guy isn’t trying anything — for now — and since this is potentially dark evidence of his fucked up, tragic history . . .

Dean should try to be sensitive, here.

Still, sleeping in Dean’s bed is a giant, unequivocal _no,_ for so very many different reasons, and he needs to understand that.

A hand untucks itself from beneath the guy’s cheek, and before Dean can protest, it reaches over, touching two fingers to Dean’s forehead.

He doesn’t even remember falling back asleep.

“Castiel?” Dean says aloud, and the head in front of the television perks, swiveling to look at him with either mild surprise or tentative delight, Dean’s not really sure which. “Dude, is your name Castiel?”

Dean swears to God blue eyes twinkle back at him, and maybe that’s not a ‘yes,’ but the fact that the dude has finally looked away from the TV since Dean turned it on is pretty damn promising.

“Castiel,” he says, testing it out, and — Castiel? - tilts his head, lips quirking. “Okay. Okay, cool. Nice to meet you, Castiel.”

His expression doesn’t _seem_ to change much, but it feels like he beams at Dean for a moment before finally turning back to the television.

 _We have a winner,_ he texts his brother, and with nothing else to really do, plunks down in the chair catty-corner to the sofa and watches some cartoons.

Dean tests out Castiel’s name as often as he can over the course of the day, and while it could just be freaky coincidence, by the end of it, he’s pretty sure that’s right.

Which — that means he understands at least _some_ of what Dean is saying. The fact that he only gave his name with a symbol in a language not in use anywhere on the planet is more than a little bizarre (though not as bizarre as everything else about Castiel), but still.

Knowing he’s not just talking gibberish — not completely, anyway — at least gives Dean something to work with.

Well, maybe.

“It’s a shower, you know? Water sprays down from the head—” He points. “—and you use it to wash.”

Castiel just squints at him.

“Like, uh. Remember when I brought you home last night? Jody said you were clean. But it’s been twenty-four hours since then, which means you’re probably dirty — at least kind of.”

Dean’s sure as hell not sniff-checking him.

Castiel almost looks offended.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. Everybody gets dirty.”

That downturned mouth flattens, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“You act like you’ve never had a shower before, which is obviously not true.”

Clearly unimpressed, Castiel just gazes back at him, and Dean narrows his eyes.

“Okay. Maybe not a shower, then. A bath? You always take baths or something? Well, I can fill up the tub, and you can wash up that way.”

Castiel doesn’t answer — of course — and Dean sighs, tempted to just let him stew in his own filth until he gets desperate.

Unfortunately, that probably violates some kind of department regulation or something, so one way or another, this has gotta happen.

“Alright. A bath it is.”

Twenty minutes later, there’s a tub full of cooling water, Dean’s already mimed soaping down and washing up about four different times in increasingly creative ways, and Castiel is still staring mildly at him, content to stand still by the sink.

If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say the bastard was laughing at him.

“That’s it,” he huffs, deciding to just point emphatically between Castiel and the tub. “You? Get in.”

Castiel frowns at him for a long moment, a clear indication he understands, in Dean’s opinion, then reluctantly starts forward, lifting a foot.

“Wait!”

He freezes, eyes darting to Dean’s in confusion.

“You can’t get in like that,” Dean points out, incredulous. The dude’s acting like he seriously doesn’t know how this works. Like, _jesus,_ has he run on spongebaths his whole life or something? “You need to — undress. You can’t wash stuff you can’t reach.”

Even as he says it, Dean has a vision of Castiel getting in the tub after he leaves and just sitting calmly until Dean comes to retrieve him. Which, that’s probably better than nothing, but it’s still not really getting clean.

Castiel uncertainly draws his foot back, hesitating.

“I’m gonna leave,” Dean explains. “So you can undress. And then I want you to get in the tub and . . . just . . . rub that bar of soap all over yourself, alright?”

He gets a blank look for his troubles, but decides to give it a shot, anyway, ducking out of the room and shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t go anywhere, though, listening for the sounds of Castiel following his instructions.

If he thought he’d get anything useful — read: not porny — he’d try and find an instructional video to show him.

Within the bathroom, silence stretches on, and after three minutes, Dean raps on the door and tentatively pushes it open.

He just barely catches it before it opens into Castiel’s face.

“Okay,” he sighs, ignoring the puzzled frown. “Okay, let’s — okay.” He gently pushes Castiel back, opening the door fully, and then nudges him out of the room. “Wait in the hall a sec, alright? I’m just gonna show you.”

He quietly shuts the door and strips down to his boxers, feeling like a complete idiot the whole time. He didn’t want to freak Cas out by suddenly starting to strip in front of him, but maybe inviting him back into the room with a half-naked guy in a tub is worse?

It’s the best he’s got, though.

He climbs into the lukewarm water with a grimace. He’ll have to redraw it for Castiel, anyway, but that certainly doesn’t help _him._

“Cas? Castiel? Can you come back in?”

For a minute, Dean thinks he’s gonna have to get out of the tub and bring Cas back in himself, but then the handle turns and the door pushes open, and Cas comes to stand by the tub without being prompted, staring down at Dean with interest.

Dean suddenly feels a little exposed.

He decides to just focus on the fact that Cas at least doesn’t seem to be exhibiting any signs of alarm or anxiety, and gets to work.

“Alright,” he starts, reaching for the shower gel. He gave up on that after the first two explanations, figuring it was more complicated, but since he’s demonstrating, anyway . . . . “Push here so this part pops up, and then turn it upside down and squeeze some into your hand, okay?”

Cas doesn’t move, but appears to be paying close attention, so Dean closes the bottle and sets it aside.

“Then you rub your hands together, so it gets all foamy—” Dean demonstrates “—and then you go like this.”

He starts washing his arms, moving slowly and thoroughly so Cas can clearly see what’s going on.

“You wanna make sure you scrub all the dirt off,” he explains, glancing back up at him, and maybe it’s desperation speaking, but he thinks Cas has a look of dawning comprehension. “And you just go like this, all over.”

Cas tilts his head, blue eyes warm.

And then he kneels, reaching for the bottle of shower gel.

“Uh.” Cas clicks the top, squeezing some into his hands, and Dean tries not facepalm. “I — yeah, that’s right, but you have to wai—gah!”

Warm, soapy hands land on his shoulders, and then Cas is gently smoothing his palms across Dean’s back and neck and upper arms while Dean struggles not to die of a heart attack in the bath at thirty.

“ _Dude,_ ” he splutters, trying to shift away, but Cas just follows, firm in his ministrations. “No! No, not _me,_ I was showing _you_ —”

A soapy hand slides over his face, and Dean spares a mournful thought to potential breakouts before he struggles forward, splashing to the other end of the bath and away from Cas, who’s looking increasingly bewildered.

“Look, I — I get that you . . . you’ve got some stuff, that happened, and — and I see you misunderstood what I was asking for, here, but — _you._ You’re supposed to wash _your_ body, not mine!”

After a moment, Cas sits back on his heels, frowning.

And then he reaches for his backwards blue tie, trying to tug it free, and Dean bolts upright, boxers clinging uncomfortably to his legs.

“Yeah, good, get undressed, and then wash up, and — and I’ll be back in five minutes to help you figure out your hair, okay?”

Cas continues frowning at him as he snatches up a towel and leaves the bathroom, but at least he doesn’t try to follow.

Dean’s relieved to find Cas standing in the tub, soapy and silent when he returns, although he still has his underwear on.

Dean doesn’t blame him.

In the end, he has to help him shampoo his hair, a task made difficult by the way Cas keeps trying to push his head into Dean’s hands, wholly uncooperative, but Dean gets him to stand up and stay put while he unplugs the tub — which hey, Dean totally forgot to refill it with fresh hot water, and god damn, he sucks — and turns on the spray to rinse him off.

As soon as the water comes on, Cas flinches, plastering himself to one corner of the stall before Dean can so much as blink. It takes some coaxing to get the guy to stand under it, but then Dean puts his hands back on his head to help rinse out the shampoo and Cas settles down again, watching him.

Of course, Dean’s too frazzled by the weirdness of the situation to remember to tell him to close his eyes, and they end up bent over the sink, flushing them with cool water while Cas grimaces and huffs miserably all the while. His eyes stay red-rimmed and wet looking after, nose pink and emitting an occasional sniffle that has Dean’s heart reluctantly twisting with sympathy.

Of course, there’s also a part of him thinks it’s kind of adorable, too, but shame is quick to follow that thought, so he brushes it aside and focuses on getting Cas into clean, dry clothes.

He feels guilty as hell when it becomes clear he’s going to have to help Cas out of his boxers and into new ones, but he tries to make it as quick and perfunctory as possible, keeping his gaze averted and trying not to touch his skin if he doesn’t have to. It must work, because Cas seems unperturbed by the time he’s dressed and following Dean out to the sofa to wait for dinner.

As it turns out, Cas _really_ likes burgers.

Dean’s not sure what’s more surprising; the fact that he sleeps through the night uninterrupted, or the fact that Cas has once again left his room to slip into Dean’s bed, lying on his side and openly staring at Dean as Dean drifts back to consciousness.

“Cas,” he says quietly, squinting against the morning sun. He can’t remember the last time he slept through the night like that, and he feels reluctantly well-rested. “You can’t sleep in here.”

He feels bad about saying it, since he’s not sure why Cas feels the need to come here in the first place. He thought maybe some creep had trained Cas to do it, but Cas doesn’t really do anything while he’s here; Dean wonders if maybe wherever he came from, he was used to sharing, in which case it feels mean to just kick him out.

Still — if Jody found out he’d let it happen _once,_ never mind twice, she’d have his head, kind-of-family or not.

Cas just squints at him, and if Dean had to attach words to that expression, his best bet would be ‘you’re being an idiot, Dean.’

With a sigh, he gets out of bed, heading for the bathroom.

Like the morning prior, Cas follows him in, brushing his teeth alongside Dean and — yup, staring at him in the mirror, as per usual. Dean shoos him out so he can relieve himself, then instructs him to do the same while Dean makes coffee. Really, though, he’s just happy he doesn’t have to babysit like he did the first time.

Once again, Dean thinks there’s probably a backstory here as horrifying as it is bizarre, and while it’s a little selfish, he’s kind of glad he doesn’t know it.

Jo comes by while Dean’s cooking breakfast and Cas is watching some kind of anime on Netflix — a choice he questions, since he still doesn’t know how well Cas even understands _English,_ and does that mean he can understand the subtitles or what — and she brings news.

“There’s been more,” she tells him, once she’s had half a cup of coffee and scarfed down two pieces of toast.

“More what?”

Jo glances at the back of Cas’s head, lowering her voice further.

“Deaths. Like the ones in the warehouse.”

“And we still don’t know what killed them?”

She shakes her head.

“Okay. And the other deaths — they’re connected?”

She hesitates.

“Yes and no? First guy was found on a fire escape outside a college girl’s apartment. Girl called the cops and hid in the bathroom when she heard him breaking in. His prints match a couple other crime scenes.” She takes a swig of coffee. “Sexual assaults.”

“Oh.”

“Yep. Other guy was found in a motel room this morning. Signs of a scuffle, some fingernail scratches. Wallet was missing, so we’re still waiting on ID, but we’re pretty sure he was soliciting.”

“Any wounds on the first guy?”

She shakes her head.

“Nope. Could be wrong, but I think the wounds are separate.”

“So . . . vigilante.”

As much as Dean loves his comic books, he’s not stupid enough to think this is anything but bad.

“Yep. Looks like they’ve got a type, too.”

He nods.

“Well, that answers the question of Cas’s involvement,” he offers, and she raises a brow.

“Cas?”

“C’mon. Castiel’s a mouthful.”

“Fair.” She looks pensive. “Still no hits on that, by the way. You can’t get him to give you a last name?”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Did I not show you the sauce art? I’m not even sure if the English spelling is right.”

She makes a face.

“Yeah. Still. If we even knew where he came from. Hell, he’s the only one who might know something about the vigilante, but he can't or won't _talk._ Even if we let him go — where the hell is he gonna go?”

And yeah, that’s another thing Dean’s worried about. He’s not really surprised Cas isn’t responsible for the freaky warehouse deaths, but Jo doesn’t even know how — how _clueless_ he is. The fact that he hasn’t tried to go anywhere suggests he doesn’t _have_ anywhere to go.

That, or he thinks he’s Dean’s captive or something. After all, there _are_ guards posted outside the door. That doesn’t exactly say, ‘hey, come and go as you please.’

Still — Dean doesn’t even want to know how Cas will fare on his own, and they can’t find any family to send him back to. But if he’s not part of the case, and he can’t offer any leads, they can’t force him to stay.

And even though it’s crazy, because he didn’t sign up for this and he doesn’t even want the responsibility, Dean’s afraid Cas won’t be _allowed_ to stay, even if Dean can talk him into it.

“Hey, Cas?” he calls. “You remember Jo?”

Cas absently reaches to the side, feeling for the remote, and then hits pause before turning around.

He hesitates, examining his hand for a moment before lifting it, palm facing them as he glances at Jo.

She looks startled.

“Oh. Hey,” she says quickly, lifting her own hand, and Dean snorts.

“Come sit with us for a sec? If you don’t mind?”

Cas stands, moving around the sofa and to the little dining area where they’re sitting, taking the chair next to Dean and looking between them curiously.

“Jo’s got some questions. I know you can’t talk—” Cas sighs, fixing the table with an unhappy gaze, and Jo lifts her brows. “But you can still give ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers, right?”

Cas looks at Dean, tilting his head, and Dean gestures to his chin, nodding deliberately.

“Nod like that for yes.” He shakes his head. “And shake your head for no. Like on the TV.”

After a moment, Cas nods slowly — he looks a little surprised afterward — and Dean grins, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, just like that. Show me a ‘no’?”

Cas shakes his head, going a little cross-eyed as he tries to keep looking at Dean, and Dean’s grin widens.

“Perfect. Let me check on the quiche, and you two can get started.”

Jo is staring hard at him, though at that, her lips quirk.

“Quiche?” she echoes, and Dean shrugs.

“What other morning am I gonna have time?”

“I better be getting some of this quiche,” she warns, and he waves a hand.

“Just ask your damn questions, alright? And be gentle. Cas is fragile.”

He has the weirdest sense that Cas is frowning as Dean walks away, but it’s probably just his imagination.

Sadly, today’s interview doesn’t go much better than it did when they first brought Cas in.

Cas can at least respond now, but even so, it’s still a dead-end by the time Dean’s setting the table and getting ready to take the quiche out.

“Do you know who the men in the warehouse were?” gets a confused squint and then a headshake.

“Did you see the person who killed them?” gets a pause, then a frown, and then a headshake.

“Were there other people there?” gets a nod, as does the followup, “In the containers?”

“Where’d they go?”

Cas looks frustrated, and Jo winces.

“Sorry. I mean, do you know where they went?”

Another pause, then a slow headshake.

Jo considers this, then gently:

“Do you have anywhere else to go? Like, home, a family, friends you can stay with?”

Cas doesn’t answer, turning to look at Dean instead. Dean’s first impulse is to turn around and pretend he’s not paying attention, but he ends up just looking back, unsure what Cas is asking.

Finally, Cas shakes his head, and Jo nods.

“And — you? Were you in the container?”

Cas shakes his head.

“Did you come with one of the men who died?”

Cas shakes his head again, and Dean and Jo exchange a look.

“Okay. Sorry to ask this, but — do you know what happened there? How they died?”

After a moment, Cas nods, and Jo straightens up.

“How? Did you see the weapon?”

Cas is quiet for a moment, then reaches out, gently resting his hand palm-down on the table.

“I don’t know what that means,” Jo says, at a loss.

Cas looks apologetic, withdrawing his hand, and Jo sighs.

“And you’re sure you didn’t see who did it?”

He shakes his head.

“Do you know if — did they run?”

Again, he shakes his head.

The rest of the interview goes a lot like that, clearly limited by Cas’s answering ability, and by the time Dean’s plating the quiche, he catches Jo’s eye and shakes his head.

She’s not getting any more answers, and Cas is becoming increasingly agitated. It’s time to stop.

Breakfast is a little more strained than Dean would have liked, even if Jo is just doing her job, and once they’re done eating, Dean leaves Cas at the table to see her out.

“Let me know if you get anything more out of him,” she instructs him, and Dean shrugs.

“Kind of a quiet dude.”

“You know what I mean. He seems to like you, considering he had a mild fit any time any of the other guys got near him.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing, and she sighs.

“Alright. I’ll let Jody know. We kind of have to figure out something to do with him, now.”

There’s an awkward pause, and Dean coughs.

“He can stay here.”

She gives him a suspicious look.

“I know he’s easy on the eyes, but Dean—”

“Dude, give me some fucking credit. That’s not what I mean.”

Jo relaxes.

“Just making sure. Honestly, I was hoping you’d volunteer. We can’t keep him in custody, but if we just let him go, I don’t know if we’ll be able to keep track of him. Even if he doesn’t know anything . . . it doesn’t seem right. But we don’t know enough to help him. He’s got a disability, so we might be able to swing a care facility, but—”

She cuts off, and Dean is startled to find Cas standing next to him, staring.

“Oh. Hey, buddy. We were, uh, we were just talking about you.”

Cas’s brow twitches and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Whatever. Anyway — so, uh, you said you didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Cas nods.

“Okay, then — you want Jo to try and figure out a place for you, or do you want to stay here?”

Faintly incredulous, Cas nods, then frowns, then grips Dean’s shoulder and nods again, more pointedly.

“So . . . here?” Dean asks, just to be sure, and this time _Cas_ rolls his eyes, wandering back over to the television. “Oh. Okay. Cool.”

When he looks away, he finds Jo staring at him strangely.

By evening, the security detail is gone and Cas is cleared to go wherever the hell he wants — within the city limits — although Jody confirms that Dean is still pretty much bound to follow all the rules. That’s not a problem, but Dean _is_ kind of dreading having to go in to work tomorrow and leave Cas by himself.

He’s pretty sure Cas isn’t going to steal all his shit and take off — mostly — but the guy’s been through a lot, and Dean’s kind of . . .

Worried.

It doesn’t seem right, leaving him by himself all day. Dean can fix him breakfast in the morning, and dinner when he gets home, but he’s not sure Cas can figure out the kitchen, and watching cartoons on the sofa by himself all day just seems _sad._

Dean worries about it all through dinner and the Disney movie Cas queues up afterward — he has more of an instinct for Netflix than the shower, that’s for fucking sure — and by the time they’re halfway through Hercules, his attention is wholly split between how to give Cas adequate in-case-of-emergency instructions and wondering, based on his answers this morning, where Cas actually came from.

In light of all this anxiety, Dean is stunned to wake up an hour and a half later, from the first nap he’s had in years _._ He vaguely recalls Cas shifting closer, followed by an overwhelming wave of tiredness, but then — nothing.

Dean wipes the drool off his mouth, wincing on behalf of the throw pillow he ended up on, and goes in search of Cas.

He finds him in the master bedroom, shirtless and bent over as he pulls on the same pajama pants Dean gave him last night, and Dean watches the ripple of back muscles for an endless, mesmerizing moment before he remembers himself.

He looks away, clearing his throat.

“You should have woken me up.”

Cas pauses, straightening as he pulls the pants up, and turns to Dean with a disapproving look.

Dean ignores it.

“Did you brush your teeth?”

Cas shakes his head and moves toward the bathroom, pausing at the door.

Only when Dean starts to follow does he enter, and they brush their teeth in silence. Dean washes his face first, then waits for Cas, and when they’re done in the bathroom, Cas goes straight to Dean’s bed.

“Okay, no,” Dean announces, snatching the cover before Cas can pull it up. “Look, I get that you’re . . . used to sleeping with someone, or whatever, but you can’t sleep in here. I mean it. It’s not appropriate, okay?”

Cas studies him for a long moment.

Then he crawls forward, gently tugging the edge of the cover free, and pulls it over himself.

“ _Dude,_ ” Dean hisses, appalled. “Cas. Castiel, I know you can understand me.”

Cas doesn’t so much as shift.

“Fine. Then I’ll sleep in _your_ room.”

Without waiting for a response, Dean marches down the hall to the guest room and slams the door shut behind him, locking it for good measure.

He falls asleep annoyed, sure he’s in for a shitty night of rest before he has to go work, but he sleeps through.

In the morning, the door is wide open and Cas is lying beside him, watching.

Even though he’s the one leaving, Dean feels like a worried mother, sending her baby to school for the first time.

“And if you have a problem, or you’re scared—” Cas narrows his eyes, but Dean ignores it, “Just go next door and knock, like we practiced, okay? Missouri’ll help you out.”

Cas nods. He liked Missouri, but then, everybody likes Missouri. The most important thing is that Missouri is recently retired from the force, and probably more qualified than Dean to help a potentially traumatized non-verbal dude.

“And in here,” Dean continues, opening the refrigerator door. “There’s a sandwich. Eat it when you get hungry.”

Cas nods.

“And don’t forget to drink water.”

He had Cas get a glass and fill it a few times last night as practice, though by the third time, he sensed Cas growing impatient. Certainly, the dirty look he threw Dean every time he had to pause their show and visit the bathroom conveyed as much as it was meant to.

Cas nods again, exasperated.

“And . . . uh. I guess — I’ll see you after work?”

At that, Cas’s shoulders slump a little, but after a moment, he nods.

“Okay. Okay, cool.” And then, because Dean is an anxious little bitch— “Again, if you need anything at all — go see Missouri, okay? Even if you just want company.”

Cas studies him, and then shuffles closer, lightly touching a palm to Dean’s cheek, hand warm.

Dean swallows, taken aback, but then — then it’s like his anxiety just leaves him, floods out through his fingertips and the breath he exhales and Cas is smiling at him and — and yeah. Okay. He feels . . . okay.

“Okay. Bye, Cas.”

Cas lowers his hand, and with that, Dean goes to work, carefully locking the door behind him.

“How’s your roommate doing, Winchester?”

Dean tenses a little, because this is Jody and also definitely not as casual a question as it sounds.

And while Dean mostly feels like he hasn’t done anything wrong, the fact remains that Cas has slept in the same bed with him three nights in a row and Dean watched him put on pants last night and Cas touched his face before work and—

“Fine, I think,” he says, as nonchalantly as possible. “Missouri’s gonna keep an eye on him.”

Jody lifts her brow.

“You think he needs a babysitter?”

“What? No — no, she’s not — _there,_ but like. I showed him where to go if he needed something, so he’s not — you know. Since _I’m_ not there.”

“I see.” Jody studies him. “Jo thought he seemed better, when she visited.”

Dean shrugs.

“Yeah? Understands more. Or maybe just — communicating better.”

“He tell you anything else about himself?”

Dean shakes his head.

“Nah. I don’t . . . I don’t really ask. I mean, we’re still not sure how he fit into — all _that —_ but he’s, uh. He’s pretty weird, Jody. Whatever the story is, it’s probably some crazy shit.”

“Weird how, do you think?”

Dean hesitates.

“Definitely not dangerous,” he starts with, since he thinks he knows where Jody’s going with this, and she sighs.

“He’s cleared, Dean. We had two more deaths last night — I’m thinking this is an all hands on deck situation — and unless you have reason to think he’s been sneaking out, I don’t see how he could be responsible.”

Dean scratches his neck.

“Yeah, no, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t been going anywhere.” _Not_ _even to his own damn room,_ he thinks bitterly, and Jody gives him a funny look.

“Okay,” she says slowly, and Dean winces.

“I just mean — you know. I haven’t noticed anything weird, and he doesn’t sleep during the day or anything to suggest he’s been up all night, so . . .”

“Right. But you think he’s weird?”

Dean tries not to cringe.

“He’s just . . . I think he understands what I’m saying, but — I — I had to show him how to brush his teeth. And like — how to bathe.”

Jody’s brows jump, and he holds up a hand.

“Not — I didn’t do anything weird, I promise, it’s just — he had to, but even though I know he understands, like, _words,_ I could tell he didn’t get what I was trying to say with the — I mean, I would have said he’d never done it before. And he freaked out when I turned the shower on.”

Dean pointedly pretends the whole Cas-soaping-up-his-back thing did _not_ happen.

“That’s . . . bizarre,” Jody says, looking disturbed. “There weren’t any signs of poor hygiene when they checked him out.”

“Right? It’s just — yeah. Just . . . weird.”

“Very.” She sighs. “Well. Let me know if anything changes. And have Jo brief you on what’s happening. I know you’ve got your drug case, but—”

“But nightly unexplained murders are kind of a big deal,” he finishes, and she smiles, wry.

“Just a bit.”

Cas opens the door while Dean is still getting out his keys, startling him into dropping them.

He bends down to get them, and somewhere down the hall, a low whistle sounds, causing Dean to snap back upright, turning.

Michael from down the hall chuckles as he approaches, mail in hand.

“Relax. I’m only teasing.”

Dean forces a smile. Michael’s . . . nice enough, he guesses, and a little hot, at first glance, but he’s also weirdly intense and creepy as fuck, and Dean’s been jumping through hoops to avoid his various invitations since he moved in.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?”

“Just grabbing the mail,” Michael says, carefully looking him over and — yeah, no, Dean wishes he’d come home even thirty seconds sooner.

Though with his luck, he would have run into the guy on his way up.

He opens his mouth to say something polite-but-dismissive, maybe wish him fun mail-reading, but before any words come out, a hand grasps his shoulder and jerks him back, Cas stepping in front of him.

Michael’s smile slips.

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a . . .”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, and after a terse pause, Cas staring him down with a colder expression than Dean’s ever seen on his face—

Cas turns, pushing Dean over the threshold and shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Okay, what the hell was that about? Don’t get me wrong, if Michael thinks I’m weird, that’s probably for the best, but — dude. What’s going on with you?”

Cas continues frowning — he hasn’t stopped since he shut the door — and crosses his arms.

Of course, Dean’s being a little unfair here; he knows better than to ask Cas open-ended questions.

“Do you know him?” he tries, dropping onto the sofa beside Cas, and Cas gives a short shake of his head, eyes hard.

“Just didn’t like the look of him?”

Cas hesitates, then shakes his head again.

“Was it because he whistled? I’m not saying it wasn’t a douche move, but it’s — you know, whatever.”

This time, he just looks at Dean.

“No? What, were you jealous?” he jokes, not thinking.

Cas lets out a tired sigh and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water.

As for Dean — it’s frustrating, but he decides this is just one more unanswered question to add to the list.

Cas is either feeling bad or feeling bored, because shortly after that, he tries to help Dean make dinner.

Dean initially tries to park him in front of the TV, insisting he’s got it covered, but Cas stubbornly gets up and hovers until Dean caves and shows him how to peel the zucchini. He fully expects Cas to butcher it, but while the first one is a little wonky, the rest of them are perfect.

Cas seems interested in helping chop the vegetables, too, so after some hesitation, Dean pulls out a second knife and cutting board and demonstrates how to keep his fingers out of the way, though he braces himself for the sound of a digit getting lopped off, anyway.

And sure, Cas works more slowly than Dean, but he produces evenly-sized chunks of zucchini and tomato, so Dean doesn’t complain. There’s a moment when Dean hears a sharp intake of breath, looks up to see Cas examining a finger — but when Dean takes his hand to have a look himself, there’s nothing there.

Probably just a close call.

Anyway, it’s nice, cooking dinner with Cas, although Dean guiltily catches himself wishing Cas had some way of communicating more; he keeps up a one-sided conversation anyway, careful to avoid work topics, and starts grilling the vegetables while Cas minds the pasta. It ends up boiling all over the burner, to Cas’s obvious distress, but Dean just lowers the temperature and takes off the lid, soothingly patting his back.

“Happens to everyone,” he assures him, and Cas nods, leaning into the hand on his back.

He looks frustrated when Dean abruptly withdraws it, and Dean tells himself it’s just because of the pasta.

Anyway, Dean figures Cas is due for another bath, sitting around the apartment or not, and to his relief, Cas seems to know what he’s talking about this time. It’s a little awkward to turn around from filling the tub to find Cas stripping down to his boxers, and it’s even more awkward to explain that Cas should remove said boxers and wash the, uh, _area_ , when it’s time to get in, but Cas doesn’t object to him leaving the bathroom when it’s ready, so Dean assumes he’s all set and wanders off to look at some files from work.

It’s not that hard to focus, and he’s not sure how much time passes before the bathroom door flies open and Cas steps into the hall, shivering and disgruntled, his completely naked body dripping soapy water into the hall.

Dean practically trips over himself getting up from the table.

“Woah, dude, what — what happened?”

Cas gives him an incredulous look, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth and stomping back into the bathroom, poking his head back out a second later to be sure Dean is following.

Heart racing — from _shock_ — Dean moves down the hall and follows him in, surprised to find the tub drained.

Of _course._ Cas couldn’t turn on the shower.

“Shit, sorry, man,” he mumbles, carefully not looking at the wet, solid form to his right, and turns on the showerhead. “Just — turn the knob back this way to make it go off when you’re done, okay?”

Without waiting for a response, he turns to give Cas some privacy, but a hand shoots out, gripping his arm.

When he gathers the courage to look back — carefully focusing on Cas’s face and absolutely nowhere else — Cas is giving him a frustrated look.

“What? What do you need?”

Cas hesitates, then lifts his free hand to his hair, running it through with a faintly pleading look.

It takes a moment, but then Dean understands.

“You . . . want me to wash your hair? Shit, were you _waiting_ for me?”

Cas nods, releasing him, and reaches for a bottle, offering it to Dean before retreating under the warm spray.

Dean stares dumbly at it — it’s conditioner — and reflects that he should have tried harder to make Cas do it himself last time.

Still — he swaps the bottles and gets to work, listening to Cas’s happy sighs and deciding not to think too hard about it.

He’s not even surprised when Cas follows him into the bedroom and climbs into his usual spot.

“If I go to the other room, you’re just going to follow me, aren’t you?” Dean asks, and Cas nods without hesitation.

Dean sighs.

“If _anybody_ asks if we share a bed, you shake your pretty little head ‘no’, you understand?”

Cas lifts his brows, eyes turning curious, but nods.

“Alright. If it makes you feel better.”

He didn’t really mean it to be a question, but Cas nods again, and resigned, Dean gets into bed and turns out the light.

For the fourth night in a row, he sleeps like the dead.

The murders continue.

The public is, in a word, fascinated. Crime scene after crime scene contains zero evidence — about the vigilante, at least — and a week after the warehouse, forensics is going crazy trying to determine the weapon. Besides Cas, there are never any witnesses, and Jody has no idea what to tell the press besides ‘we’re working on it.’

And then they get lucky.

Campus patrol, of all things, sees the flash of light, and apprehends the girl fleeing the scene. She doesn’t fight, just slows and sinks to the ground when they call out to her and lets herself be escorted away.

“I don’t even know where he came from,” she tells them, dazed, makeup smudged halfway down her cheeks. “I didn’t — I was sure nobody was coming for me, you know, nobody saw and nobody could hear me and I couldn’t get away, and I didn’t even know if — and then this guy just comes out of nowhere, and I — fuck, I thought he was an angel, at first, I swear he was gl—”

She stops, shaking her head, and repeats, “He came out of nowhere.”

She hesitates, when they ask her to describe her rescuer, and even from the other side of the mirror, Dean can tell she lies.

“T-tall. Really tall. Over six feet. Blonde. Lanky.”

Jo sighs and asks if she saw the murder.

“No,” the girl says. “He, um, he told me to shut my eyes. So I did. And there was a light, and a scream, and when I looked, the — the guy who attacked me, he was — his head started smoking. And then I ran.”

“And there’s nothing else you can tell us about him? Anything at all. No matter how weird.”

The girl looks down.

“Um. No. Sorry, it was — it was dark.”

Jo nods and thanks her for her time, just as someone comes in to let them know the girl’s parents have arrived.

“So . . . a flash of light.”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck liquefies somebody’s insides and burns their eyes out without damaging anything else? And throws off light?”

“No fucking clue. That’s not my department, and the people whose department it _is_ don’t know, either.”

“God damn it,” Jo mutters. “She lied about the description, too. I know it. But we could either be looking at Mr. Average Joe or a short, stocky brunet.”

“At least we know it’s a dude?” Dean offers, and she sighs.

“I guess.” She buries her face in her palms, then looks up. “Alright. You should get home. Cas is probably wondering where you are.”

Dean winces. He’d had a late shift, which he’d warned Cas about, but they brought the girl in just before he was meant to clock out, and he’s hours late, by now.

Maybe he should try and teach Cas how to use a cell phone.

“Yeah. Yeah, I mean — it should be okay, right? Missouri’s next door if he’s having trouble with it — he knows he can go over there even if he’s just scared or upset or something. And that’s assuming he even noticed I was late—”

Jo snorts.

“Oh, trust me, he noticed.”

The evening before, Jo had come back with Dean to eat dinner and talk over the case, and Cas, as per usual, had the door open as soon as they got there.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he mumbles, and she rolls her eyes.

“He’s like, imprinted on you, Dean. It’s weird as shit.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know he stares at you when there’s nothing else to look at, right?”

He doesn’t even want to know what Jo would say if she found out Cas sleeps in his room with him.

He wonders if Cas is there now, if he decided not to wait up and went to bed. It seems unlikely, given that he always insists on brushing his teeth and washing his face at the same time as Dean, but Dean’s never been this late coming home before, either.

It’d be kind of nice, he thinks. Come to think of it, he’s never seen Cas _sleep._ Dean drops off right away, these days, and by the time he wakes up in the morning, Cas is already awake, staring at him.

Maybe Jo has a point.

Anyway, maybe tonight he’ll get to see it, Cas curled up and snoring lightly, hair a wreck against the pillow, chest rising and falling in soft rhythm. It’ll probably be warm, when Dean gets under the blanket, if Cas has already been there for a while.

“No comment, huh?” Jo smirks, and he blinks.

“What?” He reddens, remembering. “Yeah, fine, he stares a lot. He’s just — curious.”

“Right.”

“Jo.”

“I’m just saying,” she says, giving him a speculative look. “He seems . . . _attached._ Guess I wondered if _you_ were.”

Dean shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he lies. “It’s been like, a week. I mean, it’s kinda nice havin’ a roommate that doesn’t make any noise, but . . .”

Jo tilts her head.

“Huh. Well, you better get home to your ‘roommate’ then.”

Dean rolls his eyes, trying not to sweat.

“See you tomorrow.”

The thing is, he wasn’t totally lying to Jo.

It _is_ nice, having a roommate. And Cas is a pretty good roommate. He helps cook dinner, and he’s started drying the dishes after Dean washes them, and he never makes a mess or has weird guests. And since there _isn’t_ any kind of unpleasant, antagonistic tension between them, Dean freely admits it’s cool, coming home to someone, just knowing somebody else is existing in the same space with you. It was rough, when Sam moved out to go to school. There’s no shame in it.

Of course, there’s also the bedsharing, and the fact that Cas still expects Dean to wash his hair at bath time. Just yesterday morning, Dean woke up, took his shower, and nearly had a heart attack when a super naked Cas pulled aside the curtain and tried to get in with him. Dean can tell his explanation of why they definitely can’t do community bathing was somewhat underwhelming to Cas — Cas kept pointing at the toothbrushes and face wash, exasperated — but Dean's shower went uninterrupted this morning. He’s a little worried it’ll turn out like the bedsharing and a week from now, he’ll be frantically thinking of naked family members and old toilet floaters while a quietly triumphant Cas soaps up less than a foot away, but — that’s a problem for later.

For now, Dean’s pretending not to notice Cas is kind of hot. He’s certainly not thinking about that interview with Jo, about how it’s vaguely possible Cas actually doesn’t have a traumatic past — at least, not with regards to _that_ — and he’s _definitely_ not wondering if it’s his imagination that Cas really does stare all the time.

Even if Dean’s just, you know. Changing into pajamas. Which he’s less shy about doing in front of Cas, since Cas doesn’t seem bothered by it, and it’s super inconvenient to stash the dude outside the door like an overly-curious cat every time Dean needs to undress.

But then, a lot of mundane things seem incredibly interesting to Cas, so even if he _does_ like to stare at Dean while Dean takes off his clothes and puts new ones on — it doesn’t necessarily _mean_ anything.

  
Anyway, he’s being stupid, and he knows it, so he cranks up his music and thinks about what kind of midnight snack he can have when he gets home, instead.

The door opens while he’s still fiddling with his keyring, and Dean can’t help but smile at Cas as he walks inside.

“You’re still up,” he comments, locking the door, and when he glances up, Cas is just looking at him, frowning slightly.

Dean sighs.

“Sorry. I know I’m late, I just — that, uh, that guy who killed all the dudes in the factory where we found you, he did it again tonight; but there was a witness, this time. Jody wanted me to be there for the interview.”

After a moment, Cas nods, expression unreadable.

“I’m gonna have a snack, you hungry?”

Cas hesitates, then nods, and Dean shucks off his shoes before moving into the kitchen to turn on the oven.

He’s not proud of the emergency bag of pizza rolls in the freezer, but they’re there for a reason.

Once he’s preheated the oven and prepped the pan, he goes to sit next to Cas on the sofa, closer than he did a week ago but still not _too_ close, and finds Cas looking at a folder in his lap.

“Hey,” Dean says, reaching over to close it. “You’re not supposed to look at that.”

Cas frowns, giving him a searching look.

“Sorry. I just — I could get in trouble.”

Reluctantly, Cas sets the folder on the coffee table, though he doesn’t take his eyes off it.

“Hey, are you — are you sure you didn’t see anything? That night in the warehouse?”

Cas doesn’t answer.

“’Cause the girl tonight, she saw the guy, but we think she lied. We’re not sure if she’s just trying to protect him — from her perspective, he saved her — or if there’s some other reason.”

Cas purses his lips, and Dean thinks he’s starting to look upset.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says hastily, and Cas shakes his head, frustration apparent. “Did you want to? Talk about it?”

Cas hesitates, then nods.

“Okay. Well. We’re looking for the killer—”

Cas gives him a sharp look, and Dean makes a face.

“Come on. Saving people or not — you can’t just kill people. That’s not how the world works. I mean, if he wants to leave these guys knocked out and zip-tied for us to find, awesome, I probably wouldn’t complain, but — you can’t just _murder_ people. It’s wrong. Nobody has the right.”

Cas stares hard at him, brow furrowed and mouth tight.

And then he stands, retreating down the hall to the guest bedroom.

Dean stares after him, at a loss.

“Uh. What about your snack?” he calls, and gets a shut door in response.

Dean eats his stupid snack in lonely silence, and when he goes to bed alone, too, he thinks about why Cas might have gotten so upset.

About why that girl probably lied.

Here’s the thing; while Dean easily recognizes that vigilantism doesn’t really work, that even if justice fails sometimes, you’ve gotta let it do its thing . . .

He also understands that with this kind of thing, justice tends to fail a _lot._ Justice sometimes doesn’t take it seriously at all.

Even when it does, justice doesn’t always even know where to begin.

Which means he understands how, if you’re the girl from tonight, or if you’re Cas, with his mysterious circumstances Dean’s now wondering if they were right about in the first place — having someone basically tell you you shouldn’t have been saved just — doesn’t make sense. Beyond not making sense, it sounds . . . well, it sounds really fucking offensive.

In fact, there’s a reason Dean hasn’t talked to Cas about the case — several reasons, actually — and if he hadn’t been so tired tonight, he probably would have stuck to that.

He _should_ have stuck to that.

And now . . . well, now he owes Cas an apology.

Anyway, he sleeps like shit.

“Cas,” Dean starts, once breakfast is served and Cas is pointedly ignoring him while he eats his cheesy potatoes. “Cas, about last night.”

Cas’s chewing slows, but he still doesn’t look at Dean. In fact, he hasn’t looked at Dean once all morning, when yesterday, Dean wouldn’t even have said that was possible.

“Look, I’m sorry I — said all that, okay? I didn’t — I didn’t mean it how it sounded.”

Cas swallows, and finally raises his eyes, searching.

“I can’t — I mean, I’m a cop. Even if I weren’t, it’s just — it’s not a good system, somebody playing judge and juror, giving death sentences. Even if we’re not having the capital punishment talk, that’s just — it’s dangerous. There’s no guarantee they’ll always be right.”

Cas purses his lips.

“So — yeah, if this guy is killing people, even if he’s killing really shitty people, even if he’s doin’ a good thing — a _great_ thing — saving people — it’s my job to catch him and put him away. The system’s not perfect, but that’s how it works.”

Cas looks down at his breakfast again, and Dean instinctively reaches out, squeezes his arm.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m not glad that he saved all those people. And that I don’t wish there was a way someone could do that and still have justice served.” After all, that’s what Dean and all his colleagues try and do. “And — and you should just know, man, that I’m — I’m glad you’re here with me. Uh. I mean, not — not with _me,_ specifically, not that that’s not also cool, but like, in general, I’m glad you’re not — somewhere else. Worse.”

Though Dean’s not sure there’s a worse place than having to listen to _this_ trainwreck.

Still, Cas is looking at him again — staring intently, more like — and after a moment, he stands.

Dean waits for him to storm out again or something, but Cas just tugs him to his feet, still staring.

And then, after a moment, he steps forward and leans into Dean, chest to chest and cheek to shoulder, arms loose at his sides, and Dean’s brain kind of melts.

“Uh. Cas?”

There’s silence, Cas simply breathing against him.

“Are you . . . is this a hug? Are you trying to hug me?”

Cas shifts, then, turning his head to look at Dean, and Dean carefully doesn’t think about how close they are, how he can feel Cas’s breath tickle his chin, how if circumstances were different, all Dean’d have to do was tilt his head down and lean.

Cas looks uncertain, hesitant, and Dean shakes the thought free.

Circumstances are not different. They’ve known each other about a week, and in the last eight days, Dean’s had to show the guy how to brush his teeth and bathe. And technically, Cas doesn’t even do the second thing all on his own.

And who the fuck knows what happened to Cas, before?

Shit like this is just — it’s inappropriate.

“A hug. A, uh, an embrace? You’ve seen it on the TV,” he adds, which usually seems to help a lot.

Cas tilts his head a little, still leaned into Dean, and Dean swallows.

So, maybe they’re having a moment. That’s fine. Not all moments are romantic.

Not that this one would be, even if it were happening the way Dean thought about it, of course.

 _One week,_ he reminds himself, and carefully puts his arms around Cas, giving him plenty of time to back out.

Cas stays very, very still, and after a few seconds, Dean wonders if this was a bad idea, if maybe he should have hit Jody up for some kind of professional sensitivity training, since Cas seems to be staying with him long-term and Dean has no idea what to do, here.

But then a pair of arms reaches up and circles him, tentative and barely there until they gradually tighten around him. Dean waits patiently, letting Cas feel it out, and after a minute, Cas shifts a little, turning his face back into Dean’s neck, breath warm where he sighs against it.

Dean’s not sure how many more minutes pass before he remembers hugs aren’t supposed to last that long, and he pretends not to notice the way Cas tries to cling, looking at Dean with disappointed eyes when he finally pulls away.

Weirdly enough, the murders stop. Instead, they start finding would-be victims restrained in various creative ways amid their crime scenes, babbling about a horned man who glows.

Dean has an early shift at the end of the week, and since he feels bad about the fact that Cas hasn’t left the apartment since he got there, he decides to take him out after work.

Cas looks like he wants to protest when Dean hands him a pair of jean, but Dean starts an explanation about outside clothing vs. pajamas and Cas holds up a hand to stop him, nodding with resigned eyes.

Dean’s pants are a size too big on him, so Dean retrieves the belt from the pile of clothing they found Cas in and, disbelieving at the blank look he gets, helps him put it on.

(Cas’s hipbones are warm and sharp where Dean’s fingers brush them as he tugs the pants up a little, and Dean deceives himself that this is knowledge he can forget.)

He looks — normal, in Dean’s clothes, among other things, and once they’ve managed socks and shoes, Dean leads him out the door and to the garage. They run into Michael in the elevator, and before Dean can even muster a polite greeting, Cas pushes him back into the elevator corner and stands in front of him, silently staring Michael down.

Dean only barely manages to wrestle his way forward, and when he shoots Cas a dirty look for it, he gets an even worse one in return.

“Hello,” Michael says reluctantly, eyes flicking between them. “Going out?”

“Yeah, grabbing some dinner and catching a movie.” Michael frowns a little. “You?”

Michael hesitates.

“Groceries,” he finally says. The elevator dings. “Have fun on your . . . date.”

Dean opens his mouth, ready to correct him.

“Thanks,” he says instead. “Have fun getting groceries.”

He pulls Cas out of the elevator — dude’s still glaring at Michael — and over to the garage, hoping to avoid any more awkward questions.

It’s not a date, obviously, but if Dean’s creepy, obviously-interested neighbor happens to assume he has a partner . . .

Well, where’s the harm?

Dinner with Cas is surprisingly not awkward.

Sure, Dean’s worried when they’re first seated that a restaurant will make Cas’s inability to reciprocate conversation more noticeable, but it really doesn't. Between the food and Cas’s increasingly communicative facial expressions, it’s not really an issue. It’s pretty much like it is at home, though Cas takes twice as long to eat, clearly enjoying being able to sit by the window and look out at the street.

And yeah, maybe Dean wishes, a couple of times, that Cas wasn’t stuck just listening to him, that he could ask Cas questions, like where he grew up or what he wants to do or what he usually eats — because he’s clearly not used to any part of Dean’s usual diet — but it is what it is, and what it _is_ is still really nice.

“I’m gonna get pie, obviously,” Dean tells him, once the server’s dropped off dessert menus, and opens Cas’s for him, turning it to the pies. “What do you think, cherry or apple?”

Despite living with Dean for a mere two weeks, Cas has tried — well, a lot of different kinds of pies.

Look, work is just really stressful, right now, okay?

Cas looks thoughtful, finger hovering over the picture of apple, then abruptly moves to the cherry, tapping it twice.

“Cherry? Yeah, good idea. We had apple a few days ago.” Dean nudges his own menu off to the side, smiling at Cas. “You want a slice? Or you wanna try something else?”

Cas returns the smile, then looks back down at the menu, considering. He awkwardly turns a couple pages, and eventually points to—

A parfait.

“Seriously? You know that has, like — yogurt and granola in it, right?”

Cas just tilts his head, and Dean sighs.

“Alright. Fine. Have your damn parfait, you monster,” he jokes, but Cas’s face falls. “Woah. Hey, I’m kidding. I was just — I was teasing you.”

Dean is subjected to a sad, searching look, by the end of which he’s convinced that if anyone here is a monster, it’s himself.

“Seriously.” He reaches for Cas’s hand on instinct, careful to maintain eye contact. “I don’t think you’re a monster. It’s okay if you don’t always want pie.”

The sad look turns confused, though Cas’s hand turns over, linking with Dean’s.

“The parfait’s way healthier,” Dean tries. “Sam always gets that. It’s the damn salad of desserts, though, so that makes sense.”

Cas nods slowly, then glances down, bringing his other hand over so Dean’s is clasped between them.

Without looking up, he smiles, and maybe light bends or maybe Dean’s still hungry or maybe guilt and post-meal contentment are making him confused, but the sight makes Dean’s lungs sort of forget their basic functions.

“Should I come back in a few minutes?”

Dean blinks, forcing himself to look away, and the server smiles at him.

“Ah — uh — no. I mean, we’re ready. Just a, uh, a slice of cherry pie and a fruit parfait.”

“Coming right up,” she says kindly, and Dean finally pulls his hand away to retrieve Cas’s menu so she can take it.

“Speakin’ of Sam,” Dean starts, once she’s gone. “I was gonna go see him next month.”

Cas’s head snaps up, smile gone, and Dean hesitates.

“Are you . . . will you still be here?”

For a long moment, Dean thinks Cas won’t answer, expression lost — but then it turns determined.

He nods.

Dean tries not to be too relieved. If Cas is seriously still here in a few weeks, and they still don’t know who he is, there’ll be a lot to figure out. It’ll be a massive headache.

 _Worth it_ , Dean thinks, then quickly hastens past the thought.

“Okay. You wanna come with me? I don’t fly — though you don’t have ID, anyway — so we’ll have to take the car.”

Cas is already nodding eagerly by the time he’s halfway through talking.

“Awesome. I, uh. I think you’ll like Sam.”

Or maybe not, since he doesn’t really like most dudes, but Sam’s basically a girl, anyway, so it should be fine.

Cas just nods, eyes warm, and suddenly, Dean’s looking forward to the trip even more.

He falls asleep halfway through the movie.

It’s a little disappointing, since it wasn’t a bad movie, but it was also kind of a chick-flick Dean wouldn’t have seen otherwise, selected solely because it was unlikely to trigger Cas in an unfamiliar public space. It’s never happened when they watch at home, but then, Cas judiciously selects cartoons and fantasy, so maybe there’s a reason for that.

Cas wakes him when the lights have already come back on, a soft palm to his cheek, and Dean forgets to bitch about it before he stands and yawns, stretching.

“Sorry I missed the rest of it,” he says, and Cas shakes his head, the barely-there smile letting Dean know it’s fine. “Still tired from work.”

In response, Cas reaches for his arm and guides a bemused Dean out of the theater like he thinks Dean might actually be having trouble.

He reluctantly lets go at the car, where Dean once again has to open the door for him — Dean swears Cas looks amused when he grumbles about it — but for some reason, when Dean moves to turn the key, he reaches over and touches two fingers to his wrist.

“What’s up, man?” Dean asks, but Cas just shakes his head, and after a moment, Dean starts the engine.

He’s surprisingly alert once he starts driving.

Cas seems to be taking his tiredness to heart, because the moment they’re through the front door, he pulls Dean down the hallway to the bathroom, where he tries to put toothpaste on Dean’s toothbrush for him.

“I got it,” Dean says hastily, taking tube and brush away.

Cas watches him the whole time, anyway, though that’s nothing new.

Once they return to the bedroom, however, Cas repeats his efforts at assistance, stepping close and reaching for the hem of Dean’s shirt. He has it bunched up to Dean’s chest before Dean’s brain manages to communicate with his body, enough to grab Cas’s hands and firmly separate them from the shirt.

“I got it, thanks,” he grits out, and Cas frowns at him. “You can’t help me undress, Cas. It’s—” Cas rolls his eyes, like he knows what’s coming next, but Dean says it anyway. “Inappropriate.”

With a very pronounced sigh — which he _must_ have learned from the television — Cas turns and heads to the dresser.

By the time he’s stripped out of his t-shirt and jeans, Cas is waiting patiently a foot away, arms full of clothing. He separates out a pair of pants and a shirt and hands it over, and while Dean wonders if this is inappropriate, too, he decides it’s fine.

The reality is, Cas is treating him like a sleepy little kid right now more than any of the other things Dean’s frequently afraid he could represent, so it’s — yeah. It’s fine.

“Thanks, man,” he says.

Cas inclines his head, clearly waiting.

So Dean awkwardly puts them on, torn between a) maintaining eye contact in the hopes Cas will get uncomfortable enough to stop looking and b) just staring at the ground like this isn’t just his life now, and once he’s straightened out his shirt, Cas takes his arm and pulls him over to the bed, pushing back the covers for him.

“Dude, you don’t have to tuck me in,” Dean complains. “Just go change.”

Cas stubbornly hovers until Dean has climbed in and settled back against his pillow, and then, looking disturbingly satisfied, gets to work peeling off his own shirt.

Dean rolls over and closes his eyes.

A few minutes later, he feels the bed dip as Cas gets in. There’s a rustle of movement, warmth at his back, and then two fingers touch his cheek.

And he means to tell Cas to knock it off — the bedsharing is shady enough without any contact involved — but then he falls asleep, and all is forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** SPOILERS **
> 
> 1) Mentions of trafficking/non-con prostitution: Dean and other characters are detectives; Jo has been investigating a prostitution ring, with suspicions of trafficking. When surveilling a warehouse, there’s a flash of light, after which they discover empty shipping containers, bodies with their eyes burnt out, and Cas in the middle of it. It is indicated that there were people in the containers, as well as that Cas delivered them to safety (although this is not clearly communicated, given the circumstances).
> 
> 2) Referenced attempted sexual assault: As a vigilante, Cas is going around smiting rapists. These attempted assaults are implied/discussed. On one occasion, the witness brought in for interview is the would-be target of the thwarted attack, and describes Cas’s rescue of her, though not much detail about the attack is given.
> 
> 3) Vigilante Cas: As stated in other notes, Cas goes around smiting rapists. These smitings are like those depicted in the show.
> 
> 4) Unknown character death: This refers to the rapists Cas is smiting. I don’t feel like the description of these deaths is particularly graphic, but if you feel differently, please do let me know so I can tag more clearly!
> 
> 5) Inaccurately represented law enforcement: I know nothing and I researched nothing; despite the serious nature of some of the content, this is meant to be a lighthearted story, and the setting is just a vehicle for that.
> 
> 6) Potential (non-sexual) dub-con: Cas uses his mojo to lightly influence Dean’s mood sometimes, or to put him to sleep. While Dean doesn’t really feel threatened or that disturbed by this, and even expresses appreciation for it later in the story, it is technically unsolicited and some might consider it an unacceptable violation.
> 
> 7) Cas’s Muteness: Cas is temporarily mute due to the rules surrounding his make-the-human-bond-with-me venture. While he is naive about a lot of specifically human things (think Ariel), he’s also very aware/understanding of other things and capable of making decisions. While Dean and others may not be able to properly assess that understanding, it is not the intent of this story to create any kind of dubiously consensual situation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: (incorrect) suspicions of past abuse, some discussion about the nature of said abuse (details in the end notes), implied/referenced attempted rape non-con (details in the end notes), unknown character death (vigilante activities), further inaccurate representations of law enforcement and procedure. In that vein, Dean and Cas's budding relationship has some ethical issues, without the context of Cas's real story (at this point in time, Cas appears to be at the very least an incredibly sheltered individual temporarily dependent on Dean), so that may bother you. Please let me know if I missed something.
> 
> (A quick note: There’s a comment in this chapter about handholding between adults usually being for lovers, but this author is pro-platonic handholding! Dean is just being uncomfortable because if he holds Cas’s hand, no way in hell is he just going to feel ‘friendly’ about it :D)
> 
> Thank you all for reading!! <33

“Ah, Dean. Thanks for stopping by.”

“Sure,” Dean says, not meaning it.

As awesome as Jody is, getting into work and having Victor tell him she wants to see him in her office first thing isn't any less terrifying.

Scratch that; it’s _more._

“So — how’s Castiel doing?”

Yeah, Dean thought that might be it. It’s been about three weeks now, and while Dean can enjoy having a ‘roommate’ all he wants, the reality is that they don’t know who Cas is or where he came from, and he has tentative ties to a big case.

He’s not some stray Dean can just _keep;_ even if Dean could ignore the dubious ethics at play here, he didn’t pick Cas up off the street. The whole department knows about him. Dean can’t even take him on an airplane _,_ because based on the given information — he doesn’t _exist._

He still has rights, though, and one of those rights is not having some random detective keep him like a pet.

Although, Cas doesn’t really feel like a pet.

“He’s doin’ good,” Dean says cautiously. “So far as I can tell.”

She nods, studying him.

“Do you talk to him? About things?”

“Well, I mean — I’m not a therapist. And he doesn’t talk.”

At that, Jody looks thoughtful.

“Do you think he can?”

“Thought you guys said he couldn’t.”

She shrugs, folding her arms.

“We said he didn’t. Before you, we didn’t even know if he understood English.”

“Right. Well, there could be a lot of reasons he doesn’t, even if there’s nothin’ wrong with his voicebox, or whatever.”

“And he told Jo he couldn’t sign?”

Dean shakes his head. Jo had asked, at that second interview, and Cas’s _no_ had seemed pretty firm.

“A little strange, don’t you think? That would suggest he had no way of communicating, but he looks to be at least twenty-five, and according to you, there doesn’t seem to be a language barrier.”

“The mute thing could be, uh. It could be — you know. Trauma.”

Dean still goes back and forth on that; the longer he spends with Cas, the less he can detach himself from reality, and it’s increasingly painful to think somebody could have hurt Cas that badly. On the other hand, Dean’s not completely ignorant, and he hasn’t noticed any behaviors that could indicate PTSD.

On the other hand, even if Cas understands _words,_ there’s so many things he acts like he’s never encountered before, things he couldn’t possibly have made it to adulthood without knowing. Add to that his complete lack of appreciation for boundaries, and Dean has to accept there’s _something_ going on there.

But what?

“That’d make sense. To be honest, Dean, even though he told Jo he wasn’t in one of the containers and none of those men brought him there . . . if I had to say, I’d say the muteness is recent. Have you noticed anything else? Does he ever seem — scared? Anxious? Behave oddly?”

Dean hesitates. No, he’s never seen Cas scared or anxious — unless you count when Dean called him a monster because of the parfait, and maybe he should have thought about that a little harder — but to say Cas behaves oddly is kind of an understatement.

“I mean . . . he’s a little weird, I guess, but not really scared or anxious. It seems like he's doing alright.”

Personally, Dean thinks Cas is doing pretty well. Sure, sometimes Dean gets caught up thinking about it, cooking dinner or getting ready for bed in companionable silence, and he starts asking himself where they go from here, what Cas should be doing, in the long run —

But these days, Dean falls asleep pretty much as soon as his head hits the pillow and he stays that way until morning, so there’s just — not a lot of time to dwell on it.

Jody frowns.

“Weirder than wanting you to show him how to bathe?”

“Uh,” he hedges. “Well. You saw him.”

“Briefly, three weeks ago,” she returns sharply. “Are you saying there’s more?”

“Does it matter?”

Her brows lift.

“Yes? Ideally, he’d be able to help us out with our glowing vigilante, but beyond that — if _he_ needs help, we need to help him.”

Honestly, now that the actual murders have stopped, a part of Dean wonders if they should really be working _that_ hard to catch this guy. He’d never say it to Jody, but given some of the nasty sons of bitches that have come their way, it’s hard not to feel like they’d be doing the world a disservice, putting the guy away.

Still — Jody’s right about one thing.

Cas is pretty much stuck here, caught in limbo, and whatever his story is — he deserves options.

“Yeah, of course. That — you’re right, I just . . .” he trails off, not sure how to say it, or what exactly it is he wants to say.

She leans forward, scrutinizing him.

“If having him there is a problem—” she starts, and Dean quickly shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s not — it’s not a problem. He, uh. He grows on you. I just — he _is_ doing well, and — I don’t know. I feel bad, trying to mess up his routine.”

“Ah.” Dean is neither able or interested in how to interpret the way that one word comes out. “I understand that. Especially if you have reason to think he’s been through some trauma, I can see how you’d be . . . protective.”

He narrows his eyes, and she lifts a brow, smiling slightly.

“Come on, Dean. I’ve known you since you were a kid. This is just what you do.”

“No, it’s not,” he mutters, like the ten-year-old he isn’t, and she sighs.

“All kidding aside — you know this isn’t . . . well, it can’t be permanent, right?”

Dean eyes her nameplate, a little savagely.

“He’s welcome to stay as long as he needs a place.”

“Which is _generous_ of you, but — he doesn’t even have an identity at this point. He’s not a stray cat, Dean.”

“Well, _no,_ but if he doesn’t have anybody or anywhere else to go, then — like you said: we help him. We get him some ID—”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“What do you usually do with amnesiac John Does?”

“You think he’s an _amnesiac_?” she says, incredulous, and Dean hesitates, glancing at her door before leaning forward.

“Look — when I say he’s weird, what I mean is — he’s almost like a kid. Or maybe an alien of some kind.”

Jody’s mouth falls open, and Dean holds up a hand.

“Not like an _alien,_ obviously that’s crazy, but — Jody, come on, he didn’t know how to take a _bath._ ”

She hesitates, in grim consideration.

“Dean — given the circumstances, maybe he was engaging you in some kind of roleplay—”

“What? No! No, he wasn’t — we were not engaging in _roleplay._ ”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“If we are, then he’s hellbent on playing his role. Bathing, brushing his teeth, using _utensils —_ I had to show him how to do everything. He’d never cooked before, and my phone confuses him, and he can’t even open his own car door.”

“You’re sure this isn’t—"

“Unless this is the most elaborate roleplay ever, yeah, I’m sure. _Everything_ is just — new and interesting to him. Like, he spends hours watching kid’s cartoons, and when I took him out, we couldn’t walk five feet without him wanting to inspect every goddamn street sign or park bench. He was watching me cook — another thing you’d think he’d never seen before — and you know what he did when I showed him the spice cupboard and told him how they worked? Unscrewed every single bottle and tried ‘em out.

“And I have to explain _everything._ I have to explain why we can brush our teeth together, but we can’t share the shower. I have to explain why he can’t wear his pajamas outside. That belt he was wearing when we found him? Didn’t know how to put it back on. He’s a goddamn professional now, but day one, I had to show him how to use the remote to operate the TV. And every time my stupid neighbor tries to hit on me, he acts like I’m about to be attacked, shoves me back and shit. It’s bizarre. And he — he—”

Jody, looking increasingly concerned, stares at him.

“He what?”

“He won’t sleep by himself,” Dean mutters. “I tried going into the other room and locking the door, and when I woke up, there he was. I straight-up asked him if he was gonna come sleep with me regardless of where I went, and he just nodded. Nothing weird happens, I swear to God, we don’t even touch — but when I wake up, he’s just — staring at me. Stares at me all the goddamn time, like he’s never seen a person before.”

“Jo said something like that,” Jody says slowly, and given how perturbed she looks, Dean’s starting to wonder if he should have kept his mouth shut.

But if Cas needs _help —_ then Dean can’t be the one standing in the way of that, and figuring out what Cas _does_ need is kind of above his paygrade, whether he likes it or not.

“But — other than that, he’s doing well. He really is. He’s never — he never acts like he’s afraid or anything. He’s, uh, he’s actually a really chill dude. Calm and shit. Well, kind of. He can get grumpy if he thinks I don’t make sense. But other than that, he — well, he smiles a lot, and he’s started doing this huff-laugh thing at some of my jokes, so I think he’s starting to get them, and he helps with dinner and the dishes, and while it’s true that I’m _careful,_ he’s still never — I’ve never seen him have, like, a _reaction_ to anything. You know?”

She nods, but she doesn’t really look reassured.

“Do you think—” she starts, then stops, giving him a wary look.

“What?”

“Well. Before I say this, I just — I want you to remember you’re a detective, here. And I want you to look at this from a professional angle, and try not to let yourself get too upset.”

Dean scowls.

“Okay, _what_?”

“Well — all of that _is_ weird. It’s incredibly weird. If he’s not playing some kind of game with you, then I have to wonder if he was . . .” she grimaces. “Not to make him sound like an animal, but — raised in captivity.”

He stares.

“What? Raised in — what?”

“Even if we didn’t know he understood English — you see how none of that can be explained away by cultural differences, don’t you? As old as he is, for him to not know any of that means he never learned it, which means — someone was probably taking care of him.”

It’s vague and clean and tactful, and Dean knows exactly what she’s getting at.

“No. No, that’s not — no. I don’t — Cas isn’t — I mean, wouldn’t he be weirder?” he tries, weak. Because the idea that some sicko has had Cas for that long, that they didn’t even teach him how to handle his own personal hygiene, that they made some horrifying _game_ of taking care of him, like some kind of pet—

Dean swallows, stomach turning.

“Maybe,” Jody says carefully. “Of course, maybe you were onto something with that amnesiac thing. If we could talk him into a full exam, maybe some tests — we could see if he had some kind of head trauma. That might explain the confusion about basic tasks — hell, it could even explain the lack of speech.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s — shit, I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. That, uh, that'd make a lot more sense than — than the other thing. I should talk to him, see if I can get him to go in.”

It takes a moment for Jody to answer, and Dean recognizes the pity in her eyes.

He’s seen it before, a few times.

“Do that,” she finally says, then adds gently, “And whatever they find out — maybe we should start looking at his options?”

Dean swallows.

“Of course.”

He’s not stupid; he knows what Jody’s thinking, watching him excuse himself to get back to work. She thinks Dean’s gotten too attached, that he’s not prepared to be reasonable about this, that the sooner Cas leaves him, the better.

And he also knows she’s wrong, but since he’s not sure how to explain it—

He doesn’t bother.

Cas doesn’t open the door for him, that night, and Dean figures he probably got caught up in his TV show or something. Hell, maybe it’s a sign he’s settling in. Maybe he always waited, listening for Dean’s steps in the hallway, because he was anxious for Dean’s return, and this just means he’s no longer worried about it.

Still, Dean keeps a hand on his gun, just in case, and steps into the apartment quietly, searching Cas out before he so much as takes off his jacket.

The TV is dark, silent in the empty room, and Dean’s alarm grows.

Cas wouldn’t — he wouldn’t just _leave,_ would he? Even if he got confused or something (though to be honest, Dean doesn’t really think Cas gets that confused, in quite that way), there’s no way he’d just walk out like that.

Right?

Dean’s about to head for the bedrooms — Cas could be napping; it’s not like Dean’s got cameras installed, so who the fuck knows what Cas actually does all day — when he hears it:

Voices — or maybe just one — coming from the balcony.

Frowning, he nudges aside the curtain. Sure enough, there’s Cas, perched knees-to-chest on a deck chair, staring right back at him.

Dean slides the door open.

“Hey,” he says, and Cas lifts a hand. “Were you — talking to somebody? Just now?”

Cas blinks, pausing.

Then he shakes his head, unfolding himself, and comes back inside.

He squeezes Dean’s hand as he passes, and somehow, all the worry recedes.

Dean feels like shit about it, but as soon as dinner’s over and the dishes are drying in the rack, he starts asking questions.

“So, uh. I know you said you didn’t know about — about all the warehouse stuff. And you can’t tell us your last name, or anything. But I was wondering, you know — do you remember anything before that?”

Cas tilts his head, looking puzzled, and nods.

“Like where you came from,” Dean specifies. “Growing up. Stuff like that?”

Cas nods readily, and okay, maybe it wasn’t a head injury.

Dean takes a deep breath.

“And — were you living with someone? Before?”

Cas nods.

“Like . . . family?” he asks, hopeful. Cas nods again, and Dean’s relieved for all of five seconds before he realizes that question is potentially ambiguous. The kind of person who’d keep another human being like that might convince them of all kinds of things.

“Someone you were related to? By blood, I mean?”

Cas nods again, a strange blend of wary and curious.

“Parents?”

He shakes his head.

“Oh. Siblings?” Dean tries, and Cas’s lips quirk. He nods. “More than one?”

Cas nods again.

Okay. Once again, this could mean a few different things.

“And . . . was anyone, like, taking care of you?”

Cas blinks, brow furrowing.

“You know. Uh. Making sure you were clean and fed and stuff.”

Cas looks offended, pursing his lips, and deliberately shakes his head.

“Dude, don’t give me that,” Dean protests, forgetting himself. “ _I_ practically do all that for you.”

Cas just gives him a disbelieving look, lifting his shoulders as if to say, _so?_

Dean sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Okay. Um. What about—” and he really, really doesn’t want to ask this — “Before, when you slept — was there usually someone with you?”

If anything, Cas looks _more_ incredulous. He shakes his head with almost comical vehemence, which . . .

Okay. Not all creeps want to get off on it, or if they do, they don’t actually need contact for that. Dean doesn’t want to blindly ignore shit Cas might be dealing with just for his own personal comfort.

Still, it almost sounds like . . .

“So, before — you lived with your brothers and sisters?” he clarifies. “Blood siblings. You all had the same two parents?”

Cas nods again, though the air of exasperation is unmistakable.

“And — the place you lived. Was it . . . a house?”

Cas hesitates, then shrugs, then nods.

“Like the kind of house we see on TV?”

He shakes his head.

“Was it — underground?”

This time, Cas just looks at him like he’s an idiot, and shakes his head again.

“Oh. Okay. Cool. And — this house, did you ever leave it? Like to go out?”

Cas squints at him, nodding slowly, and yeah, Dean’s feeling dumber by the minute.

“Right. So you’d say — you were definitely, uh, _free_ there. And you took care of yourself.”

Another nod.

“And . . . when you left. Did somebody take you away?”

Cas shakes his head, puzzled now.

“You decided to go on your own?” A nod. “And — all the people you lived with. They were okay with it?”

Cas nods.

“Okay. Okay, and — when you went to the warehouse, did you — did you go by yourself?”

Again, he nods.

“Nobody asked you to or made you. You went there, by yourself, because you wanted to. Or — I guess you could have got lost.”

Cas tilts his head, but nods, and something in Dean relaxes. If Cas is being honest, then the story’s kind of weird, because it means Cas _does_ know where he comes from, and apparently even has _family,_ and it sounds like he probably wandered to the warehouse by coincidence; which neither solves the mystery of his ignorance or reduces the number of questions Dean still has, but it _does_ mean he probably wasn’t being abused.

At least, not the way Dean and Jody were worried about.

“Okay. Okay, that’s — that’s good.” He takes a deep breath, reluctant to ask but knowing he has to. “And — your voice, is that — have you always been this way?”

Cas’s expression turns sour, and he huffs before shaking his head.

“Was it an accident?”

This time, he just shrugs and sighs. There’s a story there, one Dean thinks Cas would be willing to tell him, if he _could_ talk, but Dean gathers it’s a little too complicated for the yes-or-no game.

“Okay. Last question — I just — I need to know — nobody hurt you, right? I don’t just mean recently, I mean — ever? You were okay? Before?”

Cas is visibly surprised by the question, and it takes him a moment to answer.

He does so by slipping out of his chair, rounding the table, and looking down at Dean with warm eyes.

“I . . . what does that mean?”

The corner of Cas’s mouth lifts, and he reaches out, touching Dean’s cheek.

And it’s weird, because Dean’s not completely oblivious — he knows he notices Cas, and he knows he’s not totally unaffected by all the looks and little touches — but this one . . . this one makes his whole body flush warm, makes his worry unknot and his chest loosen and for a split second, Dean feels full to the brim, overwhelmed by some kind of bright, wonderful feeling coursing through every halfway available space inside him.

Still holding Dean’s gaze, Cas slowly shakes his head, soft in his eyes and his smile and the way his hand lingers on Dean’s cheek.

Dean swallows, and even though <em>he</em> could talk, in theory, all he can do is nod, staring right back.

After a moment, Cas withdraws his hand, and the feeling dims, fading to a disappointingly wispy afterglow, and Dean wonders what the hell just happened.

But then Cas is calmly sitting down and eating, and Dean has no more questions — not that he wants to ask tonight — so he simply picks up his fork and does the same.

A week later, Dean gets to work to find Jo in as foul a mood as he’s ever seen her, and it doesn’t take long to figure out why.

One of the guys they brought in, from the vigilante case, is being released.

“ _What_? You’re kidding me, right?”

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’ as she slouches in her chair. “Without a witness, evidence was circumstantial. Guy has money, too. He goes free.”

“What about a warrant?” Dean asks, because search warrants on several of the other guys turned up evidence for all kinds of things in a true example of icing on the fucking cake.

“Didn’t happen. Guess he knows some people, too,” she mutters darkly. “It’s bullshit. The whole situation was suspicious, but we can’t prove he was going to commit a crime and there’s nobody to say he tried, so he gets to walk, and _maybe_ , if we’re lucky, we’ll get another shot at him. Except our luck is somebody else’s misfortune and god _fucking_ damn it.”

Dean has nothing to offer her, here; it’s taking all his own self-control not to start throwing things.

“Do you ever wonder—” she starts, then stops, ducking her chin. “I shouldn’t, I’m a cop, but—”

“Yeah,” Dean says, cutting her off. “Yeah, I do. And I don’t know, Jo. But — I do know it’s out of our hands, and all we can do is our job. You just — you can’t think about what-ifs.”

She doesn’t look at him.

“I guess.”

Dean knows she’ll go home and she’ll stew on it, knows that even if she can push it aside tomorrow, it’ll come back.

Because it always comes back. This kind of thing — you never really let it go.

He squeezes her shoulder and heads back to his desk, and spends the rest of the day trying not to think of it himself.

Cas senses something’s off, because he abruptly turns the TV off halfway through a show and turns to look at Dean, expectant.

“What?” Dean asks, discomfited, and Cas’s brow dips.

He inches closer and takes Dean’s hand, tilting his head.

Waiting.

“We really shouldn’t hold hands,” Dean says instead. The non-argument from three weeks ago is the closest thing to a fight they’ve had, and Dean’s been careful to avoid mentioning work ever since.

Cas just narrows his eyes in response, and Dean sighs.

“Friends don’t really hold hands like this, Cas. Not unless they’re kids.”

The grip on his hand tightens, Cas’s gaze unmistakably defiant.

Well, you know what? Dean can be pretty damn stubborn, too.

“You know _why_ they don’t hold hands? Because holding hands as adults is usually for lovers.”

Dean expects Cas to get huffy and impatient here, as he usually does when presented with basic fucking logic, but he doesn’t.

No, if Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say the grumpy look turns . . . _speculative._

But then, after a moment, Cas suddenly looks down, towards his lap, and Dean suppresses a sigh of relief. Cas _should_ be uncomfortable. He’s being awkward, and recognizing it for what it is is just an important life lesson.

Except then Cas shifts closer, close enough the outside of his thigh presses warm against Dean’s, and then, very deliberately—

He takes Dean’s other hand.

And _then_ , to Dean’s deep, unending gratitude, his phone rings.

“Shit, I gotta take that.” He snatches his hands back and leaps off the sofa in one swift movement. “You, uh, you can — just — finish the show without me.”

He takes the call on the balcony, futilely hoping the cool night air will somehow fix the heat prickling beneath his skin.

Of course, as it turns out, he’s not actually in the clear.

When Dean reaches over to switch off the light, Cas follows, arm stretching alongside Dean’s as he moves to stay his wrist.

Dean freezes.

“Uh. Cas.”

Gently, Cas draws him back, using his free hand to press Dean's shoulder to the pillow.

And then he waits.

The problem is, Dean isn’t sure what he’s waiting for.

“What, do you need to pee or something?” he jokes, and Cas’s expression goes flat.

His grip on Dean’s shoulder tightens, and not in a comforting way.

“Ow, jesus. What? What do you want?”

Cas just fixes him with a hard stare.

“I don’t speak angry silence, man, you’re gonna have to try harder.”

And yeah, Dean’s a little surprised Cas’s eyes don’t actually roll out of his head.

Stern, he touches a finger to the space between Dean’s brows, tracing the crease that’s been there since Jo told him some piece of shit was gonna get another chance to hurt someone, and just like that, Dean knows what he’s asking.

He sighs, reaching up to gently move the hand away.

“The guy, from the warehouse. Who ki— who’s been saving people. One of the guys he left for us to find — the evidence didn’t stick. He’s going free.”

Cas sucks in a breath, gaze turning troubled.

“And it just — it sucks. I know the law is what it is, and while it’s not perfect, it’s better than the alternative, but — there’s a limit. To what we can do. And it’s not — it’s not fair. I mean, it is, because the law works the way it does for a reason, but — it’s _not_ working here, there’s probably something hinky going on but we can’t do anything at our paygrade and it just — you just feel—”

_Powerless. Like you failed._

_Like somehow, whatever happens next is all your fault._

Dean doesn’t say any of that.

Still, something of it must show in his face, because Cas’s expression tightens and then he’s maneuvering Dean onto his side, slotting into place behind him and holding fast.

“Uh, dude,” Dean says, both disturbed that it’s happening and disturbed that it’s actually vaguely comforting. More than, even. “Dude, no.”

There’s a huff from behind him, one he can both hear and feel, and his neck prickles pleasantly from the sensation.

Dean swallows.

“We’re not spooning.”

Silence.

He sighs.

“This — what we’re doing now — this is spooning. I put up with the hand-holding—” there’s a snort, which Dean ignores — “But I gotta draw the line here.”

Cas doesn’t move, still breathing softly behind Dean and arms still warm where they wrap around him.

“Cas,” he tries again. “I mean it. If you do shit like this, we can’t sleep together. I swear to God I’ll sleep in Missouri’s guest room if I have to; if you can’t keep your damn hands to yourself, you’re on your own. Got it?”

There’s a lengthy pause, and then Cas sighs, sliding his hand up, just over Dean’s heart.

“ _Cas,_ ” he hisses, ready to turn over and push him off—

But then his irritation sort of abruptly subsides, and his eyes feel heavy, and seconds later he’s fast asleep.

“I think Cas might be giving me roofies.”

Jo spits her coffee all over a case file, and it’s five more minutes of extremely explicit cursing and ranting before everything’s cleaned up and back to rights and she levels him with a reluctantly curious glare.

“The hell do you mean, Cas might be giving you _roofies_?”

Dean shrugs, looking away.

“I just — you know how I, uh. I have trouble, sometimes? Sleeping?”

Dean’s stayed at the Harvelles’ enough times that Jo knows about the nightmares, has seen the way insomnia drives Dean to wander in the dead of the night.

(Has accidentally clubbed him with a lamp in said dead of the night when he came back from a walk.)

“Yeah?”

He hesitates. It sounds completely fucking crazy to his own ears, never mind to an outside party, but—

“Haven’t had any since he moved in.” Well, except for that one night, after their fight, but if anything, that just proves his point. “I sleep like a baby all the way through, every single night.”

She frowns.

“Okay. Weird, but — maybe this just means you should have gotten a roommate sooner? Maybe having someone there — I don’t know, just makes you feel more secure?”

Dean shakes his head.

“Even when Sam was still living here, I had trouble a lot of nights. And here’s the thing, Jo, a couple times we’ve been going to bed, and I’ll be about to talk to him or we’ll already be talking and I just — I just fall asleep right in the middle it. Feels like someone fucking switches me _off._ ”

Jo stares at him like he’s grown three heads.

“When you’ve — when _both_ of you — dude, are you _sleeping_ with him?” she hisses, and oh, right, Jody probably doesn’t gossip with Jo about that shit. Good to know.

“Uh.”

“Dean, you could — I mean, for all I know you could get _fired,_ and what about—”

“Jody knows,” he says hastily. “It’s — we don’t do anything. Cas just — I kept trying to put him back in the guest room, or even went there myself, but he refuses to sleep alone and since he doesn’t, uh, try anything, it’s just — it’s just a thing. No big.”

He thinks her eyes bulge a little at that, but it’s probably just a trick of the light.

“No big — it’s _no big —_ and hold the fuck up, dickwad, you said you thought he _roofied_ you, so how would you even _know_?”

He scowls.

“So are we worried _I’m_ creeping or are we worried _he’s_ creeping, because you can’t have it both w—”

Jo punches him in the shoulder, and he grits his teeth.

“I’m just saying. Like last night, we were in the middle of a conversation, and he was getting all huffy about it, and then _bam._ I was out. Mid-fucking thought, mouth open and ready to to tell him off, I just — fell asleep.”

She blinks.

“You’ve figured out how to talk to him?”

“What? I — yeah? I mean, he still can’t do anything but nod and shit, but — I mean. He’s got a — a face, you know?”

She raises her brows.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I remember him having something like that.”

“Fuck off, you know what I mean.”

“I guess,” she says, doubtful. “Anyway — so you think he’s — what? Drugging you to sleep every night?”

Dean shrugs.

“I mean — maybe?”

“You’re sure it’s not just the stress getting to you?”

“Jo.”

“I’m just saying — what does he get out of it?”

“I don’t _know,_ but it’s just — it’s just _weird._ ”

“Huh. Well. Have you tried looking around? See where he might have stashed the drugs?”

At this point, Dean is _sure_ Jo is just humoring him, but—

It’s not a terrible idea.

“No,” he says grimly. “Only just thought of it. But yeah, I should look around.”

She pats his arm.

“You do that.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off, Jo.”

She smirks, opening her mouth —

And then Victor comes by, expression serious.

“Vigilante dropped a body,” he announces. “Guy who got released yesterday? Housekeeper just found him.”

Jo inhales sharply.

“And you’re sure it’s-”

“Eyes burnt out, just like the others.”

She looks at Dean, then, and without a word between them, Dean knows.

Jo doesn’t really feel bad about it, either.

“Okay, buddy. We gotta talk.”

Cas blinks at him, but obligingly shuts off the TV and scoots closer. He’s got one knee crooked, leg resting on the sofa, and when he turns to face Dean, that knee pushes up atop Dean’s thigh.

Dean eyes it suspiciously.

“That,” he says, accusing, and Cas lifts a brow, following his gaze. “That. You can’t do things like that.”

Cas stares at him, vaguely concerned.

“Oh, hell no. Don’t look at me like _I_ ate something funny when you’re the one who — listen, buddy, everybody’s got a little thing called a ‘personal bubble,’ alright? It’s the space around them that’s theirs to move in, and other people aren’t supposed to put their hands or their knees or anything else in it.”

At this, Cas just looks nonplussed.

“Let’s put it this way: you’re in my bubble right now. You see the space between the two cushions we’re sitting on? You’re not supposed to cross it. ‘Cept you’ve got your knee all up on mine, and it’s — well, it’s inappropriate.”

Cas is quiet for a moment, contemplative, and then lets out a long sigh.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Cas rolls his eyes.

“’Can’t talk,’ my ass,” Dean mutters. “I’m just saying, man. Hands and knees are one thing, but that trick you pulled with the spooning last night? Your — your bubble was practically smothering mine, there, and it’s just — it’s not cool, okay? You and I don’t have the kind of relationship where we touch each other.”

Cas tilts his head, squinting, and then reaches up, massaging his own fingers through his hair in a clear pantomime of shampooing.

Dean colors.

“That’s different.” Except — “Actually, you know what? It’s not. I’m glad you brought it up. You’ve been doing this — what, a month, now? Most people wash their hair on their own, and you’re not stupid. You gotta know how, at this point. I think you should do it by yourself.”

Cas’s expression turns downright _thunderous._

“Oh, come on, it’s not that hard—”

With an irritated huff, Cas shoves him over, and Dean’s head bounces lightly against the throw pillow where it lands.

He stares at Cas.

“ _Wow._ Really fucking mature, man—” he snaps, trying to sit back up, but then Cas impatiently pulls Dean’s legs up onto the couch, shoving him up against the back of it, and then—

And then he flops down alongside him, back to Dean’s chest.

“What the _fuck_?” Dean swears, but Cas just blindly reaches back, seizing Dean’s arm and arranging it across his stomach. “Dude, what the hell are you doing?”

There’s silence, unmistakably defiant, Cas still holding his arm in place.

“I have no idea what you’re trying to tell me, man,” Dean lies, because he might have an idea, but it’s a scary idea. A really nice, unbelievably appealing, scary idea.

Dean’s never heard a more long-suffering sigh than the one Cas lets out at that.

“What, you _want_ me in your bubble or something?”

Cas nods, dark hair tickling Dean’s chin.

Dean swallows.

“You like me washing your hair?”

Another nod.

“You like this? You like spooning?”

Again, a nod.

Dean takes a deep breath.

“You like me touching you?”

And yeah, Dean’s going to hell for this, he’s sure of it.

At first, Cas doesn’t respond, and Dean wonders if he went too far — he often suspects Cas is less naive than he lets on, and maybe Cas can read _all_ the potential meaning of that, and maybe he’s rightfully wary of it — but then Cas carefully shifts under Dean's arm, turning around, and looks at him.

His eyes are dark, intent, and that first _maybe_ becomes _definitely,_ potent and lethal in Dean’s brain.

Slowly, deliberately, Cas nods.

Dean’s mouth goes dry.

“We should go to sleep,” he says — responsible, not cowardly — but Cas doesn’t move, just keeps watching him.

Waiting.

Dean feels like Cas does that a lot.

Eventually, he forces himself to get up, carefully lifting himself and slipping out from behind Cas, over the sofa back, before he makes his way to the bathroom. A few minutes later, Cas joins him, and they get ready for bed in a different kind of silence than usual, one that’s fraught and heavy and full of potential.

Dean’s too chicken to even say ‘good-night,’ just rolls to the edge of the bed, facing outward, and shuts off the light without a word.

They don’t talk about it, again. Dean keeps washing Cas’s hair, and Cas doesn’t try as hard as he should to stay out of Dean’s bubble, but really, nothing changes.

It doesn’t stop Dean from wondering.

“How’s Cas doing?”

Dean’s been dreading it, but he certainly wasn’t surprised when Jody called him into her office again.

“Great,” he says, because aside from a stubborn ignorance of personal boundaries, Cas is doing pretty damn swell. Dean doesn’t even need to supervise him anymore when it comes to food prep, and Missouri’s started taking him out to the park a lot of days — “Even if you wanna keep him, boy, you can’t keep him _locked up,_ ” she chides him — so Dean leaves Cas a packed lunch in the fridge, and he thinks the fresh air and not-Dean company is doing him good. Dean’s been trying to take him more places, too, whether it’s just to grab a bite to eat, or to hit up one of the museums or parks or whatever from the list Sam sends him. Dean has only to tell Cas they’re going out after work, and Cas’ll be appropriately dressed and ready to go by the time he gets home.

(And if Dean’s taken to thinking of this as ‘date night’ in his head, well, it’s just a metaphor.)

Anyway, Cas never seemed unhappy, before, but these days, Dean thinks he practically glows.

And since Dean’s still sleeping great and a thorough search of the apartment turned up zilch as far as drugs go . . .

Dean’s not doing too bad, himself.

“Uh-huh.” Jody pauses. “Were you able to find out anything? Get him a doctor appointment?”

“Uh. Well, actually, I, uh, I talked to him. Interrogated him, kinda.”

She nods.

“And what did you find out?”

Dean shrugs.

“He lived with his brothers and sisters, before. But he took care of himself, and slept by himself, and he came and went as he pleased. There wasn’t anybody — you know. Like we talked about. And I asked if anybody’d hurt him, ever, and—” Dean trips on his words a little, remembering that strange, warm feeling when Cas had touched his face. “He said no. Very firm no.”

Jody looks relieved.

“Oh. Well, that’s promising.”

“Yeah. Oh, and — the not-talking, that’s new. I don’t know when it happened, exactly, but he used to be able to talk.”

She nods slowly.

“Did he say what happened to his family?”

“What?”

“Well, he told us he had nowhere else to go. If he was living with his siblings, and he wasn’t being held captive — what happened?”

“Well, he said he left. And they were okay with it. And — and nobody brought him to the warehouse, or anything. He went there by himself. I think he got lost.”

She frowns.

“Then why hasn’t he gone back?”

“Sorry?”

“To his family, Dean. If they’re still out there, why isn’t he trying to get back to them?”

It’s a really good question, actually, one Dean would wonder why he hadn’t asked, except he thinks he might know.

“I mean, probably the same reason he left in the first place?”

She purses her lips.

“Dean. We clearly don’t have all the answers here. I see that you’re attached, and you don’t want to upset things, but — we need to find out who he is. We need to find his family.”

“ _Do_ we? I mean, if he doesn’t want to go home, we can’t _make_ him. He’s an adult. And really, he doesn’t even have anything to do with this case, anymore. Clearly, he’s not a victim, and he doesn’t know anything, so he’s not even a witness, so _technically_ , he can do what he wants.”

Jody lifts her brows.

“Dean, he told Jo he knew how those men died.”

“And then he couldn’t actually tell her. Maybe he was confused.”

“Well, if he was confused about that, then how do we know he wasn’t confused about _your_ questions?”

“Jody—”

“Either way, he’s undocumented, and we don’t know where he came from. We need to figure _something_ out for him, Dean.”

“Okay, then figure something out!”

Her mouth flattens, severe.

“Dean. If he needs to stay somewhere else, we can do that.”

His chest goes cold.

“What? No. I told you, he’s doing great—”

“You can’t keep him like a pet, Dean. No matter how much you miss your brother,” she adds pointedly, and Dean gapes.

“ _What_? He’s not a _pet,_ Jody, he’s my _friend._ Yeah, sure, I like the company, but this isn’t about me.” Mostly. “Cas is — he’s doing better every day. He’s learning all kinds of shit, and he’s getting to be pretty good friends with Missouri, and — obviously, even if he wasn’t abused, he was pretty sheltered. He needs help, still, and I can give him that.”

Jody brings a hand up to her forehead.

“Do you know how you sound right now?”

“To protect and serve, Jody. I think I sound like I’m trying to do that.”

She sighs.

“He can stay with you. For _now_. But I want you to get him to a doctor, and you need to keep asking questions. Whether he decides to stay here or not, until we know where he came from, he can’t really make that decision, Dean.”

Dean nods, mostly just relieved Jody’s not trying to stick Cas some strange, unfamiliar place where he’s bound to get sad and miss — miss his routine.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll do that.”

“And Dean? Get him some ASL classes. He deserves to be able to communicate.” She stares, hard. “You can’t speak _for_ him.”

Which — ouch.

“Okay,” he mumbles, and she nods.

“Okay, then. Get back to work.”

Dean slinks back to his desk and promptly books Cas a doctor appointment, and then he googles signing classes.

Of course, if Cas is going to learn to sign, then so is Dean.

His local community center’s next round doesn’t start for a couple weeks, so Dean reserves their places and resigns himself to the fact that that’s how they’ll be spending a lot of their date nights, going forward.

On the other hand — the prospect of being able to actually _talk_ to Cas, even if Dean knows it’ll be a while before that’s fully possible, is kind of exciting. Enough that Dean wishes he’d made the effort sooner.

It’s just — he didn’t know. Not if Cas would stay, or how long he’d stay, or anything about what would happen. Even now, he doesn’t really know, but he does know that if they do this, there are much better odds of Cas sticking around longer.

Which — since Dean’s not exactly in any hurry to see him go, it’s kind of a no-brainer.

He feels a little better after taking care of that — he doesn’t kid himself that it’s just because of Jody’s guilt trip — and then he heads out to grab some coffee before he meets up with Jo to try and hunt down some witnesses. They found another body this morning, but no one’s come forward and they can’t put together a secondary crime scene, leaving the motive up in the air.

Although, personally, Dean doesn’t doubt for a moment that the victim’s guilty. In fact, he’s betting the only reason he got smoked out like that is because their glowing hero knew there wasn’t evidence and he wasn’t waiting to see injustice served twice.

Dean’s still not sure, exactly, how he should feel about it.

Going door-to-door in the nearby apartments yields zero results, and Jo goes back with Dean to grab dinner before the clubs and bars open. There’s no guarantee the same people will be working, but they can at least figure out when to come back.

“So, are you like, moved in permanently?” Jo asks, utterly tactless, over grilled cheese and tomato soup.

Without missing a beat, Cas nods, and Dean chokes a little.

“You are?”

Cas lifts his brows, tilting his head.

“I mean, it’s — it’s cool if you are. I, uh. Obviously I have the space.”

“The space,” Jo echoes. “Yeah, ‘cause if you didn’t, there’s no way you’d let him stay.”

Cas stiffens, face falling, and Dean fumbles his spoon so badly he wouldn’t be surprised if the bowl cracked.

“She’s teasing,” he explains quickly. “It’s a joke about how much I like you, you know, sarcasm, because I’d let you stay even if I didn’t have any space, I’d — I’d make some. Just for you.”

Cas’s expression sort of melts, at that, blue eyes going impossibly soft, almost starry, and Dean’s stomach thrashes desperately because Cas looking at him like that is just — it’s just—

It’s a lot.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Jo asks, and Dean tears his gaze away from Cas to find her staring at him, appalled. “You practically just proposed to him.”

Cas perks up, at that, openly curious as he turns to Jo.

“She’s joking again,” Dean interjects firmly.

“No, I’m not. Cas, if he tries to get you to marry him—”

“I’m _not_ —”

“Just come by the station and we’ll rescue you.”

“I’m not gonna try and marry him!” Dean insists, and he must be too vehement or something, because Jo goes quiet and Cas gives him this horrifying, wounded look and _fuck his fucking life._

Jo quickly changes the subject, but whatever the non-verbal-person equivalent of not speaking to someone for the rest of a meal is, that’s exactly what Cas does.

Cas doesn’t even look at him, let alone wave or see him out, when it’s time for them to leave. Dean hovers pathetically by the door, hoping he’ll turn away from the TV for a second and at least cock his head at Dean or something.

He doesn’t.

“Dude, you _ass,_ ” Dean mutters once they’re in the elevator.

“What?”

“Cas is pissed and it’s all your fault.”

Jo’s mouth falls open a little.

“How is it _my_ fault?”

“You totally threw me under the bus for your own amusement!”

“The hell? How was I supposed to know your roommate of less than two months wanted to _marry_ you? Speaking of which, something you wanna share with the class?”

“What? No! Cas doesn’t — he doesn’t want to _marry_ me.”

“So he randomly ignores you a lot, then?”

“C’mon, anybody would have been offended. You — you tricked me into saying I didn’t wanna marry him!”

“Uh, no, Dean. If you’d said he was gross or something, maybe, but one dude saying he doesn’t wanna marry his dude friend — who he barely knows — really shouldn’t warrant that kind of cold shoulder.” She pauses. “Unless, of course, he wants to marry you.”

Dean shoves his hands in his pockets and scowls at the doors, trying not to think of that night on the sofa, the way Cas turned over and nodded at him.

The way he _looked_ at him, like — like -

Like ‘ _yes, I like you touching me’._

And if for some reason Dean _is_ thinking of it, then he’s mature enough to recognize that Cas being maybe-not-opposed to some contact with Dean, a reasonably attractive human person, is a completely different story than liking him enough to want to _marry_ him.

“We barely know each other,” he mumbles. “Why the hell would he wanna marry me?”

“Beats me,” she returns cheerfully, moving forward as the doors open. “Could be Stockholm Syndrome?”

“I think you have to be trapped for that.”

“Isn’t he?”

Dean frowns.

“Hey, he’s got a family. He can leave, if he wants.”

And fine, maybe Cas didn’t say that, at least not in so many words, but Dean thinks it’s a fair extrapolation.

He has to.

“I guess.” They walk out to the car, quiet for a moment, and then she takes a deep breath. “Then again — it was kinda weird, the fact that he went with you in the first place.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

She doesn’t get in, when they get there, just hovers by the door and looks at him over the top of the car, thoughtful.

“Maybe it was love at first sight?”

Dean stops and stares.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t know. He just kind of . . . attached to you. I thought he’d attack you, when you went into the interview room, but nah. And then he went with you — went and _moved in_ with you — and now . . . god, I don’t know. He kinda looks at you like he’s in love with you, but he was doing that back when I first had breakfast with you guys, so — maybe he’s just a big ol’ romantic.”

Dean jerks the handle impatiently, getting into the car while he tries to find some kind of composure.

“He’s not in love with me,” Dean says, after a moment, because he’s _not._ Why would he be? Even if they hadn’t met five fucking seconds ago—

Jo sighs.

“It’s not like _you’d_ be able to figure it out,” she mumbles.

Dean decides not to dignify that with a response.

They talk to countless employees at what feels like countless places, but nobody saw or heard anything. Eleven-thirty finds them disappointed at their third nightclub, and Dean leaves the last bartender for Jo to strike out with while he wanders back to visit the men’s room.

He’s just rebuttoning his fly when he hears the scream, there between beats in the music and cut off almost an instant later. A moment sooner or later, and he’s not sure he would have heard it, thinks it might have been smothered beneath the pounding bass of the club.

He tenses, trying to determine the source. It could have come from inside, but there’s a small, rectangular window on the outer wall of the restroom, and if Dean’s oriented correctly, it lets into a narrow alley. He thinks he saw someone smoking there, when he and Jo first drove up.

He hastens out of the bathroom, quickly striding down the hall and searching for a door to the outside. At the very end on the right, he finds it, carefully easing it open, one hand on his gun; if something _is_ going down, and somebody’s armed, Dean doesn’t want to get shot into uselessness because he’s a dumbass.

He steps out into the smoky night air, eyes drawn immediately to the light, a blue-white glow atop the silhouette of a man.

The door tries to swing shut automatically, stalled as it hits his shoulder, but he ignores it, watching the man reach down. Dean’s view is a little obscured by the dumpster, but then another form is being dragged out, struggling against the hand on its collar, and a third form scrambles into view, sobs echoing loudly between the buildings.

“Oh, my god, oh, my god — thank you — thank you, I just — I just wanted a smoke, but he fucking _fo_ _llowed_ me out here, and I told him to fuck off, but he just — he just . . .” she trails off then, as if realizing what she’s seeing.

Now, further into the alley, turned a little more toward Dean, he can see the person who’s rescued her.

And even though it’s dark, even though the blue-white glow casts his face in strange shadows, Dean recognizes that nose, those cheekbones, the sharp line of that jaw and the hair that curls at the base of his neck.

He recognizes everything except for the glowing fucking horn emerging from the tangle of dark locks above his forehead.

The woman stares, just as shocked as Dean, and Cas reaches out with his free hand, seemingly unperturbed by the man’s desperate struggling. He touches her forehead, and she shudders, then nods and clumsily paws at her back pocket, pulling out a cell phone.

And then she starts making her way past him, and Dean instinctively steps back inside, darting back down the hall before she can spot him.

A part of him thinks he should go back, make sure Cas is okay.

Another part of him even thinks he should go back and _confront_ him, ask him what the hell he’s doing there and why he has a goddamn _horn_ growing out his head.

But mostly, he knows Cas is fine. Knows, because Cas is apparently their glowing vigilante, apparently sneaks out at night after Dean’s gone to sleep, and despite everything he does, he never, ever comes back with a single scratch on him.

Dean knows this, because try as he might not to look, he sees Cas. He sees _all_ of Cas, bare and unselfconscious when he stands beneath the shower spray, relaxing back into Dean’s ministrations like he has nothing in the world to hide — or if he does, like he trusts Dean with it.

Except he _doesn’t._

And Dean has no idea what to do with that.

Dean joins Jo by the door just as she gets the call, listens to her curse into the phone and then go in search of the girl. He stands there, shaking hands stuffed in his pockets, and listens to the hesitant recounting of the story like he didn’t see half of it happen.

Of course, Cas is nowhere to be found.

Dean gets home well past midnight, and Cas opens the door, like he always does. Dean looks at him for a long moment, in a way he never thought to before, searching for signs he must have missed.

But Cas just steps back, expectant and vaguely pleased, every inch of him relaxed — because Dean’s home now, and he’s been waiting, and this whole time, Dean thought that was all there was to it — and no matter how hard Dean stares, trying to see it through new eyes—

Nothing changes.

“Hey, Cas. Sorry I’m late.”

Cas shakes his head, gently pulling Dean through the door and shutting it. He flips the deadbolt and puts the chain in, and then he stands there, patient as ever, while Dean shrugs out of his jacket and takes off his shoes.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” he points out. “You can just get ready for bed and go to sleep. I don’t wanna mess up your schedule.”

Cas huffs, nudging Dean’s shoes into a more orderly position by the bench, and reaches for his hand.

“Oh, no,” Dean mutters, despite himself. “I’m gonna get the poor-Dean-is-tired treatment tonight, aren’t I?”

Cas rolls his eyes, but yeah, when they get to the bathroom, Cas prepares his toothbrush, and he fetches pajamas for both of them. He picks Dean’s favorite, softest pair of pajama pants to hand to him, and Dean wonders if that’s a coincidence, or if he somehow knows.

“Should take you shopping,” he mumbles, accepting the bundle. “You told Jo you were moved in permanently. You should have your own clothes.”

Cas shrugs.

“And — you are? Moved in permanently?”

Cas nods, though there’s something uncertain about it.

“It’s okay with me,” Dean says, though a part of him wonders why they’re having this conversation instead of the one they _should_ be having, the one where Dean asks why Cas lied and why he sometimes sprouts a glowing horn. “I just don’t want you to feel trapped.”

But Cas just shakes his head, looking for all the world like the thought is ridiculous, and while a part of Dean wonders if he just — hallucinated, or something, another part of him agrees with Cas.

After all, if Cas had a problem with Dean, he could just smoke his insides and that would be that.

And Dean thinks, maybe, that he should be afraid of Cas now. If Cas is really the vigilante, if he really killed all those people like that, if he’s really so good he walks away from every encounter without a mark — if he’s not quite human, the way the blue-white light around his fucking _horn_ would suggest — then Dean’s kind of in deep shit, here, if he somehow fucks up.

Still — he’s not. He’s not scared of Cas. He’s afraid of what it means, for _them —_ he’s afraid he’s been reading things all wrong, that even if he hasn’t, it changes things, going forward — but he’s not afraid Cas will hurt him.

“’Bout what Jo said,” Dean starts, catching Cas’s eye. “About — marrying you.”

Cas tenses, gaze flicking down, the offense clearly not forgotten, despite his usual welcome.

“That’s not a thing people do until they’ve known each other for a long time. It, uh. It takes years to get there, sometimes.”

Cas looks incredibly pained, still not looking at Dean.

“It’s not that I think the idea is gross, or anything. It’s not about you.” He takes a deep breath, moving closer, waiting for Cas to meet his eyes. “It’s just that I don’t know you.”

If Cas looked hurt, earlier, it’s nothing compared to now.

Dean presses on.

“Hell, I don’t know _anything_ about you. I’ve got no idea who you really are, where you’re coming from.” Dean swallows. “For all I know, I might not really _like_ you, let alone could love you like that.”

Cas lets out a strained breath, eyes wide and searching.

“You get that, right? I don’t really know you. And I want to. Because I — I’m pretty sure I like you. A lot, Cas. And I want you to stay. And maybe we could talk about the other things, if — if you’re still here in a few months, or something, but—”

Cas shakes his head, turning, fists clenched, and Dean instinctively reaches out, grasping his shoulder. He tries to remind himself that Cas _isn’t_ some lost kitten or hapless, naive orphan; that he’s possibly not even human, and he’s proven himself capable of terrifying things.

That even if he smiles softly at Dean over meals, and watches kid’s cartoons, and insists Dean wash his hair for him, Dean would be an idiot not to be cautious.

“Cas,” he starts, but Cas just shakes him off; he reaches for his pajamas and walks out, down the hall to the guest room, where he firmly shuts the door behind him.

Dean barely sleeps, of course. He thinks he hears Cas leave his room, relieved when the muted slide of the balcony door follows, instead of the front door slamming shut.

He didn’t — he wasn’t trying to get Cas to _leave._ He just wanted Cas to realize that that _Dean’s_ not stupid or oblivious either, that trying to do whatever it is they’re doing while Cas keeps Dean in the dark about — well, about _everything —_ is a recipe for disaster.

And maybe he should tell Cas he knows, but — shit, Dean _doesn’t_ know. Not really. He has one profile glimpse from a dark alleyway, and no idea how to explain any of it, and even if he straight-up asked Cas, Cas can’t tell him either.

Might not want to. Might just — run. Dean has no idea, and the more he lies there and thinks about it, the more he thinks he needs to figure out more, maybe figure out what Cas _is,_ before he talks to him.

Figure out if he’s okay with it. Okay with the prowling-the-streets-taking-out-bad-guys thing, and okay with the . . . the other stuff they may or may not be doing, that Cas might or might not want.

Shortly thereafter, he hears a low, muffled voice coming from one of the surrounding apartments, despite the fact that it’s four in the fucking morning, and he sighs, resisting the urge to burrow underneath his pillow. He wants to be sure he can hear it when Cas comes back inside.

Which — jesus, for all Dean knows, Cas can fucking fly, and he’s not even really on the balcony at all, and how the _hell_ is this Dean’s life?

Half an hour later, he hears the door, hears Cas retreat back to a guest room both of them have been happily ignoring for a couple months, and still can’t find it in himself to be relieved.

Eventually, he falls asleep.

He wakes up late — no one’s expecting him at work for a few hours yet — and once he’s done in the bathroom, he stumbles out to the kitchen to get coffee going, still groggy.

He smells breakfast before he sees it; Cas is turning the bacon over, Dean’s apron looped over his neck and tied askew at the small of his back, and the eggs and toast are already on the table.

“Cas?”

Cas flinches a little, stiffly pivoting.

He hesitates, eyes flicking to Dean’s and away again, and then awkwardly smiles, gesturing at the table.

“You didn’t have to make breakfast.”

Cas shrugs, turning back to the stove. The discomfort is clear in his posture, and Dean thinks even if Cas _could_ talk, he wouldn’t be, right now.

Dean fixes the coffee — Cas glances over to see what he’s doing and winces, expression guilty, but Dean waves him off — then drops into a chair to wait, sipping away while he watches Cas cook.

Honestly, the bacon probably doesn’t need that much attention, but Cas is clearly being careful not to face Dean, and there’s something subdued about the way he moves, gently prodding with the spatula and quietly arranging paper towel onto a waiting plate.

Watching him practically tiptoe around the kitchen, Dean’s bandshirt and plaid pajama pants completely at odds with the frilly apron Charlie got him as a gag gift (Dean likes it anyway), blue eyes worried every time they not-quite steal a glance back at Dean . . .

Dean wonders if he’s wrong. If maybe he imagined it, last night, mind playing tricks on him, because — really? This Cas, _his_ Cas, curious and open and — and _sweet,_ whose feelings were hurt last night because Dean said he didn’t really know him, who’s still somehow preparing a meal on his own for the first time ever because he’s obviously worried about _Dean’s_ feelings, is the same guy who cruises around town picking off creeps and lowlifes? The same guy who burnt all those people’s eyes right out of their fucking skulls?

 _Really_?

Cas switches off the burner, scoops the bacon onto the plate, and brings it to the table, carefully setting it down and nudging it toward Dean because apparently, after a couple of months, Cas knows Dean can be bribed with bacon.

“You gonna sit down and eat?” Dean asks, and Cas nods, hand moving to the neck of the apron.

Dean doesn’t think too hard about it, just reaches out and hooks a finger around the waist tie, tugging Cas toward him.

“Here, let me,” he says quietly, and Cas hesitates, then faces away, fingers curling up against his palms.

Dean lets out a startled laugh when the tie won’t come free and he realizes how firmly Cas knotted it.

“It’s supposed to be a bow,” he points out. “You’re supposed to be able to just pull one end and bam, freedom.”

Cas just sighs, shoulders slumping, and Dean quickly gets to work untangling the knot. Once it’s free, the apron relaxing forward, Cas starts to move away, and Dean reaches for his arm, staying him.

“Hey,” he says softly, eyes on the hem of Cas’s t-shirt. “Thanks for making breakfast.”

He gets a shrug for his trouble, Cas’s shoulders tense and chin tilted down.

“I’m not mad at you,” he tries next, and after a long moment, he pulls, turning Cas and catching his gaze. “I’m not. That isn’t — that’s not what that was about it.”

Blue eyes stare down at him, sad and lost, and Dean swallows.

“I was just — I was just trying to point out,” he starts, halting. “What we’re doing here — I mean, if we’re even doing anything — it’s not, uh. It’s not totally normal.”

Cas’s mouth tightens, and Dean sighs.

“It’s not bad. It’s just not normal. And even if it’s working, whatever it is — even if you wanna move in, or whatever—” Dean’s not bringing up the marriage thing, because if he does, he might get a straight answer from Cas about whether he even _would_ marry Dean, and Dean doesn’t think he can handle that right now. “It’s better to be cautious, you know? We get along, and that’s great, but you and I don’t really know each other, so — so there’s no point thinking that far ahead, you know? It — it’s okay to wait. To just — wait and see. Okay?”

Dean’s proud of himself, thinks he actually did an okay job explaining his — jesus, his goddamn _feelings,_ for once, but Cas somehow looks _more_ despondent, weariness evident in the whole line of his body.

“Cas,” he says, searching. “Don’t — don’t look at me like that. I don’t get it. Why are you — I mean, we have _time._ That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Cas just shakes his head, reaching out with both hands, cupping Dean’s cheeks.

And then he looks at him, just looks, as if willing him to understand.

“I don’t,” he says. “I don’t understand.”

Of course, he gets no response.

Instead, Cas’s palm slides down a little, thumb briefly brushing Dean’s lower lip, and then he sighs, disappointed and forlorn and a sound Dean utterly hates.

Before he can think of anything to do about it, Cas steps away, pulling the apron over his head. He drapes it over the back of his chair and sits down to eat, and nothing more is said.

“So, uh. You know how a few people — several of ‘em, actually — said the guy had a, uh, a horn?”

“Yeah? Part of his vigilante costume or whatever.”

“Right. Right, yeah, so — what do you think that’s supposed to be?”

“The costume?” Sam clarifies, and Dean nods, shifting his phone to the other ear as he looks over the case files for descriptions.

They all match — to one another, and to what Dean saw.

“Yeah. Why a horn? What’s he trying to say he is, there?”

“Hm. Are we talking like, a curled horn? A demon type of thing? Or a rhinoceros—”

“Pointy cone.”

There’s a long silence.

“Pointy cone?” Sam echoes, and Dean nods, though he can’t see him.

“Yeah. And it, uh. It glows. Supposedly.”

Another pause.

“Like — like a _unicorn_?” Sam asks, incredulous, and Dean almost laughs.

Almost, because actually—

“Yeah. Yeah, shit, like — like a unicorn. Think it might even have had the spirals.”

Sam sucks in a breath.

“Wait — did you _see_ it? You saw the vigilante?”

“Huh? No! No, no, I just — I mean, the reports describe, uh, stuff. That could be, you know. Spirals.”

Dean doesn’t kid himself that the ensuing pause isn’t suspicious.

“Right.”

Dean clears his throat.

“So . . . that sounds like a unicorn. Glowing spiral horn. I mean — what else could that be?”

“I don’t know. Although — isn’t that kind of . . . for an adult man’s hero costume . . .”

Sam trails off, and Dean frowns at the phone.

“What’s wrong with unicorns?”

“Nothing, just — it wouldn’t be most guys’ first choice, you know?”

“Unicorns are badass,” Dean insists, stubborn, although for all he knows, they’re way off the mark here.

“Well, yeah, they are, just **—** ”

“Just _what_?”

Sam sighs.

“Right. Okay. So, good talk, I think I’m gonna get back to work, and I’ll see you Saturday, right?”

“Saturday?”

“Dude, you’re coming to visit this week. You and Cas.”

“Shit, that’s this week?”

“Dean. You’ve been planning this for months.”

“Right, yeah, I just — sorry. Time got away from me.”

“God, if I thought I’d have to _remind_ you—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Saturday. We’ll be there. See you soon, bitch.”

Sam sighs.

“Jerk.”

Dean smiles.

“Thanks for the help. Bye.”

Road-tripping with Cas to his brother’s _does_ complicate things — he wonders if he should be worried about more than complications, then dismisses it. Cas wouldn’t hurt Sam — Dean’s not sure how he knows, but he does — but on the other hand, maybe it’ll be good for both of them. Maybe Dean can figure out some answers when he’s not so caught up with work, or even just their home routine, when he’s somewhere where he can look at the situation with fresh eyes.

After he does some research, of course.

“Well, hello sir! Can we help you?”

Dean startles on his way into the library, figuring he’d fumble around a computer for a few minutes looking up potential hits. It’d probably be easier to just power through whatever insane results google spat back at him, but he doesn’t want anyone at the station catching him, and if he does it at home, he doesn’t want to risk tipping Cas off.

Besides, Dean’s looking for some old, hardcore mythos on this shit, and call him crazy, but he thinks his best bet is a good old-fashioned _book._

Anyway, the three beaming, overly-eager librarians at the desk are both unexpected and intimidating, but he gamely approaches the counter, figuring they’ll be faster at it.

“Uh, hi. Actually, I was — I was looking for some books on unicorns? Not like, for kids, but like, lore and mythology. Like, you know, if they were real.”

None of the librarians look surprised, nodding in unison.

“Of course,” the blue-eyed, wavy-haired brunette in the middle says seriously. “Unicorns. Very interesting.”

The blonde next to her nods.

“Quite. Extremely interesting. You know, some people think they’re real.”

The wispy brown-haired man nudges her.

“Not that _we_ do.”

“Of course not, Inias,” she says, smoothing her hair. “I’m just saying _some_ people do. They take the legends quite seriously.”

“Right,” Dean says, nonplussed. “So . . . where would I find the books?”

“Wonderful question!” the brunette exclaims, clasping her hands together. “Unfortunately, we’re all out.”

Dean stares.

“Out. As in, every book related to unicorns is checked out?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t even check,” he protests, and she blinks, looking comically thoughtful.

“Well, I keep, ah, very strict tabs on all unicorn literature here, but _now that you mention it —_ I believe one might have just been returned today!”

“It was,” the man agrees brightly. “Very lucky. Hester, will you get it?”

“I’d love to,” the blonde exclaims, reaching underneath the desk and then freezing. “Oh, dear. Where is it, again?”

Both the other librarians turn to her, dismayed.

“It — it was just here, Gabriel just dr— I mean, the customer just returned it,” the brunette mutters, then turns back to Dean. “It appears we’ve misplaced it.”

“Oh. Uh. You know what, it’s fine, I can come back, or check a different library—”

“No! No, no, that — that won’t do at all, this — this is really the _best_ book on unicorns there is, and I’m _sure_ it’s here somewhere, if you’d just give us one moment?”

She and the blonde give the man a desperate look, and he quickly rounds the counter.

“Yes, I know it’s somewhere around here, just — just wait!”

And then he practically runs off, leaving the three of them standing in uncomfortable silence.

Uncomfortable for Dean, anyway; both women are looking at him like some kind of zoo animal, curious and speculative and maybe even a little judgmental, and he’s relieved when no more than a minute passes before the man is running back, panting heavily.

“On top of the vending machine,” he gasps out, slapping the volume down on the counter, and both women sigh.

“Of course,” the brunette mutters, then fixes Dean with a smile, sliding the book toward him.

“Well, there you go! Enjoy.”

“Uh. Thank you.”

There’s a long silence.

“Can you look up my library card?”

Three pairs of eyes blink at him.

“Library card?”

“So I can take the book? I mean, check it out?”

“Well, yes, we strongly encourage you to ‘check it out,’” the blonde says, airquoting with a puzzled frown.

“Right, but — you have to scan my card. Or look it up. So the library knows who has it, and when it’s due back?”

They all stare at him, and then the brunette clears her throat.

“The library knows,” she says firmly, and if that’s not ominous, Dean doesn’t know what is. “Don’t worry about it. Have a very nice day, sir.”

And a part of Dean wants to argue — maybe even flash his badge and search the desk for drugs — but another part of him just wants to leave.

“Right. Thanks, ma’am, you . . . have a nice day, too.”

He hurries out to the parking lot, conscious of being watched.

Dean’s a little worried about taking vacation time — even if things at work weren’t so tense over their extremely active vigilante problem, now he has to worry about the pattern breaking while Cas is gone and someone putting two and two together — but Jody reassures him.

“Nothing’s happening — nothing _new —_ and honestly, if we do have a breakthrough, we can probably manage without you.”

Dean decides to interpret this as well-wishes for a nice vacation, and when he gets home that night, he lets Cas know they’ll be leaving in a couple days.

“I hope you don’t get carsick,” he jokes, pulling two duffle bags out of the closet, and when he glances up, Cas looks offended. “Hey, I’m serious. Short trips out are totally different than ten hours on a highway.”

Cas rolls his eyes and heads for the dresser, rifling through the pajama drawer.

“Four nights worth,” Dean calls, and Cas holds up a hand to acknowledge him before continuing his careful selection.

Dean was afraid, after last night and their weird moment at breakfast, that things would be weird, but other than seeming a little more down than usual, Cas isn’t really acting any differently.

It’s a relief, although the fact that Dean still doesn’t know what Cas was trying to say is frustrating, especially since Dean _knows_ things, things Cas doesn’t know he knows, things that may actually matter a lot.

The book is still in the trunk of his car, ready to be examined once they get to Sam’s and Dean can talk his brother into distracting Cas for a little while. Dean doesn’t really have high hopes — he’s still having trouble believing Cas might actually be a goddamn _unicorn —_ but it’s a start, at least.

They pack in silence; he can tell Cas keeps looking at him, and when they’re about finished, Cas comes to inspect the duffles.

“That one’s for you,” Dean says, and Cas edges in close, picking through it. Overall, he looks pleased, though he does take out one of the t-shirts, heading to the closet to swap it out for another.

“What was wrong with that one?” Dean protests, and Cas grimaces, pinching the back of the one he’s wearing so it pulls taut across his chest.

Dean swallows.

“Oh. Uh. Too tight?”

Cas nods.

“That’s fair.” He coughs. “Looks nice on you, though.”

There’s a long pause.

And then Cas heads back to the closet, reaching for the shirt he just hung up.

“What? Dude, don’t wear a shirt you don’t like—” he starts, but it’s too late. Cas neatly folds the t-shirt, decisively setting it at the top of the duffle.

There’s a smile in his eyes, the kind that makes Dean want to shove the duffle bags aside and forget all about vigilantes and unicorns and taking it slow, if only because he thinks Cas might just let him.

He zips the duffles with a little more force than necessary, pointedly looking away.

“Alright. We’ll have to get our toiletries last, but other than, we’re all set.”

Cas nods, helping him carry the bags to the door, then follows him to the kitchen to make dinner.

When they go to sleep that night, Cas settles in his usual spot.

And then, after a few minutes, he scoots closer, tentatively curling around Dean’s back.

“Cas.”

Cas is silent, breathing against him, but doesn’t move.

And even though things are maybe a little weird, and Cas may actually be some kind of unicorn, and either thing notwithstanding, it’s probably still inappropriate—

Dean just settles back against him and lets it happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussions of suspected past abuse: Dean and Jody have concerns about Cas’s backstory. Given what Dean has had to teach him, Jody is worried someone was keeping Cas captive, and managing his personal needs as part of a game. She also proposes Cas might be engaging Dean in roleplay, but Dean dismisses it. Of course, Cas has not been abused and is here entirely of his own volition!
> 
> Implied/referenced attempted rape/non-con: This is specifically for a brief scene where Cas rescues another person (promptly); the person he saves is very upset, but is able to call the police and go back inside the club. Not a lot of details are given, but it is more than what Dean and Jo usually reference when talking about a case.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: none that I can think of, please let me know if I missed something.
> 
> Thank you!

Cas, as it turns out, is pretty good roadtrip material.

He can’t read a fucking map to save his life — in his defense, Dean figures Cas maybe hasn’t _seen_ a map in his life — and eventually gets fed up with trying, shoving the thing back in the glovebox in what is _definitely_ not the configuration in which it was originally folded.

Dean’s okay with this — Cas is _maybe_ a little cute when he’s being huffy and resentful, so long as it’s not directed at Dean _—_ and he’s pretty sure he can find his way on his own, checking the map between stops.

Except Cas still insists on navigating.

Dean has a lot of questions about this, the first time Cas squints at the road and decisively lifts his hand in the direction of the next exit.

“I think we have a ways to go,” he tries, and Cas emphatically jerks his arm right again. “Okay. Do you have to use the bathroom?”

Cas just narrows his eyes and reaches for the steering wheel, and then—

Well, nobody dies and Baby scoots on by that Lexus without making contact, so it’s fine.

Anyway, it’s not like they’re short on time, or anything, so the next time Cas lifts a hand, daring Dean with his eyes, Dean goes ahead and indulges him.

Surprisingly, Cas is right. There are a couple times, when the exits are practically on top of each other, that Dean has to get back on the highway and take the next one, but he could have just as easily made that mistake himself.

He doesn’t ask about it — Cas, of course, offers no explanation — and they make their way to Sammy in pretty good time, Dean singing along till he’s hoarse while a smiling Cas watches from the passenger’s seat, tapping his fingers on the bench.

It takes Sam no more than five minutes to get them a parking pass and guide them to the garage, beaming through the window while Dean finishes parking.

“Hey, bitch, how’s it going?” Dean greets him as he gets out, and Sam grins, coming in for a hug.

“Not bad, jerk. Glad you guys made it.”

“’Course we made it. I’m a great driver.”

Sam pulls away, looking behind Dean, where Cas has apparently scooted across the bench to peer out the window at them.

“Um, hey,” Sam offers, smiling. “Cas, right?”

Dean makes a face, shuffling back to get the door.

“I know you can do it yourself,” he grumbles, but Cas just blinks innocently back as he climbs out, like he has no idea what Dean’s talking about.

Once he’s out, Sam offers a hand for him to shake, but it hovers awkwardly in the air while Cas studies him, eyes searching.

And then he smiles, grasping Sam’s hand in both of his, and Dean watches the surprise in his little brother’s face turn to confusion, and then to what looks bizarrely like — awe.

Dean clears his throat.

“Cas, Sammy. Sammy, Cas,” he mutters, stepping forward and clapping a palm over Cas’s shoulder. After a moment, Cas releases Sam’s hand, and while Dean’s glad Cas didn’t freak out and attack him, this prolonged eye contact and silent communion is just disturbing.

(But only because Dean doesn’t want Cas like, getting attached to Sam, and vice versa. They’re staying less than a week, so — so that wouldn’t do, for either one of them. Dean’s just thinking of their future selves, is all.)

“Right. Um. Really nice to meet you, Cas, I’ve . . . heard a lot about you from Dean,” Sam finally says, confusion creeping back into his face, though he smiles.

Cas lifts his brows, curiosity plain, and Sam laughs.

“All good things, don’t worry,” he clarifies, but Cas just shuffles forward, face expectant.

“Sam,” Dean warns, and Sam smirks.

“Why don’t we get your stuff upstairs and I can tell you what he said over dinner?”

“ _Sam._ ”

Cas just beams.

Sam’s yes-or-no conversation is actually pretty good, and by the end of dinner, Dean’s almost worried Cas is going to wander off to go sleep in _Sam’s_ room or something.

He shouldn’t be, though; as soon as the mugs from post-dinner coffee are in the sink and it’s time to get ready for bed, Sam has questions.

“Cas? Where are you going?” is one of them, and Dean’s been so preoccupied with the whole _Cas-is-a-unicorn_ thing, he forgot that he hasn’t exactly told his brother everything about their unique roommate situation.

Dean turns, just in time to see Cas a few steps behind him, cocking his head.

“Uh. Cas and I usually brush our teeth and stuff together. ‘S’more efficient.”

Sam looks at him like he’s grown a few extra appendages.

“But . . . don’t you have two bathrooms?”

Dean blinks, then shrugs.

“Sink’s broken in the guest bathroom,” he lies, and despite the smoothness with which he does so, Sam just looks skeptical.

“Right.”

“Yup. Anyway, I’m beat, and Cas probably is, too. Sooner we get to bed the better.”

His brother hesitates, some complicated internal debate clear in his face.

“Okay,” he finally says, thankfully not sharing, and Dean reaches for Cas’s hand and pulls him into the bathroom before Sam can change his mind.

Of course, shared ablutions end up being the least of his worries. When they come out, Sam’s all fresh-faced for bed and smelling like peaches, and the first thing he does is guide Cas to the guest bedroom, leaving the sofa for Dean. Cas goes along easily enough, to Dean’s initial relief, but then Sam comes out just as Dean’s finished changing. He barely gets halfway through a good-night to him before Cas is ducking around him, duffle in hand.

“Oh, is something wrong?”

Cas shakes his head, perfectly friendly, before plunking it down next to Dean’s and reaching for the hem of his t-shirt.

It takes effort, but Dean manages not to facepalm.

“Um,” Sam starts, and Dean bites back a sigh.

How the _fuck_ is he supposed to explain this one?

“Cas, uh, doesn’t like to sleep alone.”

If he weren’t on the receiving end of it, Dean would find his little brother’s expression _hilarious._

“You mean you — like, every night you — but—”

Cas smoothly steps out of his trousers, squatting to pull his pajamas out of the duffle like Sam’s not experiencing severe brainmelt two feet away.

“Yup,” Dean says, terse, but Sam doesn’t get the message.

“Are you sure that’s—” he starts, and Dean glares.

“ _Yup,_ ” he says again. Still, Sam frowns, opening his mouth.

He shuts it again as Cas catches Dean’s wrist and starts pulling him to the made-up sofa.

“Cas, not now,” Dean mutters, and Cas lets out an annoyed breath, tugging again. “Cas, just — gimme a second, alright?”

Cas rolls his eyes and crawls onto the sofa, carefully tucking himself up against the back, on his side, the space he leaves open damning evidence of his plans.

Sam looks appalled.

“You can’t — even if you usually share, you can’t share a _sofa._ ”

“Which I’ll happily explain to him once you’re done being scandalized, Samantha.”

He gets an incredibly bitchy look in return, and he sighs, turning more fully to Cas.

“Cas. We’re not sharing the sofa.”

Cas frowns.

“Don’t give me that look. You knew Sam wanted you to sleep in the guest room.”

He sits back up and narrows his eyes at Dean.

“You’re being rude,” Dean adds, just to be spiteful. This _is_ kind of Cas’s fault.

(He’s just going to ignore the fact that he wouldn’t have liked going to bed alone, either.)

Cas looks incredulous, like he knows.

“And actually, even if you wanted to share, why the hell did you come out here? You should have tried to get me to go to _your_ room, where there’s a _bed_.”

Surprisingly, Cas looks down, almost — guilty.

“The hell does that mean?” Dean demands, and Cas continues not to look at him, carefully extricating himself from the blanket. “Cas.”

Apparently content to pretend to be deaf in addition to mute, Cas smoothly picks up both their bags, heading for the guest room like Dean didn’t just ask him a question.

“God _damn_ it.”

Sam coughs.

“I, um. I think—”

He cuts off, visibly perturbed, and Dean scowls.

“Oh, hell no, not you, too.”

“I just — I think he wanted to . . . cuddle?”

And honestly, Dean’s instinctive response to _that_ is pretty much _we can cuddle in a goddamn bed,_ but Sam’s discomfort is palpable, threaded through with reluctant curiosity, and Dean suppresses a wince.

“No, he didn’t,” he says instead. His brother looks doubtful. “We don’t — I don’t cuddle with him,” he corrects, because _that,_ at least, is true. Cas can snuggle up to Dean’s back all he’d like; Dean’s still technically just _lying_ there.

Sam frowns.

“That makes it sound like he cuddles with _you._ ”

“He’s clingy sometimes, sue him,” Dean grouses, inching toward the hallway. “It ain’t personal.”

Sam’s brows shoot up.

“Um—” he starts, and Dean coughs.

“Anyway, we’ll just — be in there. ‘Night, Sam!” With that, he hastily scoots around his brother and ducks into the guest room, shutting the door behind him.

Once he’s confident Sam’s not going to try to follow, he turns, startled to find Cas already in the bed, watching him with narrowed eyes.

“We don’t cuddle,” he announces, stern, and Cas purses his lips. “We _don’t._ Whatever that weird spoon-y thing you do is, it doesn’t count.”

Those full lips thin, pressing together, but Dean holds his ground.

“I mean it. Obviously, you’ve got — issues, or something, but that’s like a — like a kid hangin’ onto a stuffed animal. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

Cas sighs, carelessly shoving back the blanket and waving a hand at the space beside him in clear dismissal.

Dean scowls.

“And that’s another thing! You couldn’t sleep by yourself for a few fucking nights?”

Unimpressed and faintly _bored,_ Cas just shakes his head.

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to tell Sammy?”

This time, Cas gives the bed a firm pat, wriggling down until he’s prone and tugging his side of the blanket up to his chin.

And since Dean’s not getting anywhere, anyways, he rounds the bed and climbs in, grumbling all the way.

“ _No_ understanding of boundaries, I swear to God,” he mutters, fluffing his pillow and collapsing with a huff. “And seriously, what the hell was up with the sofa thing?”

Cas ignores him, shutting his eyes and turning into his own pillow a little more, even though Dean _knows_ he doesn’t fall asleep that fast, is pretty sure Cas must actually wait until _Dean_ has.

“Don’t tell me Sam was right,” he adds, just to be a dick. “You went through that much trouble because you wanted a _cuddle_?”

At that, Cas cracks open one eye, and even at half-power, the glare is pretty strong.

And even though he can’t possibly know for sure, Dean’s gut is telling him that’s a _yes_.

He even pretends to be surprised.

It takes him a moment to think, Cas eyeing him suspiciously. Really, he’s _been_ thinking about it, for a while. And even if he climbs out of bed and sleeps on the goddamn floor, Sam’s still going to assume he and Cas snuggled all night.

That they snuggle _every_ night.

And sure, Cas is a unicorn crusading for justice, and Dean has no idea what that actually means and Cas is literally incapable of telling him, and maybe Dean shouldn’t let things get _more_ out of hand, especially when he has no idea what the hell he wants or even _expects_ going forward—

But then, maybe if Sam’s gonna get all judgey and lecture him anyway, Dean might as well earn it.

“Dumb idea,” he finally says, and Cas’s jaw tightens, eye shutting again as he burrows a little deeper. “If you want something, you’re supposed to ask.”

The annoyed lump across from Dean stiffens, and a breathless moment later, Cas turns his face, both eyes open.

For a moment, Dean thinks they seem to glow a little, and then he dismisses it, and then he considers it again, because maybe Cas’s eyes actually _do_ do that.

But then Cas shifts a little closer, wary and hopeful all at once, and Dean steels himself. He doesn’t move, still facing him, and lifts an arm in invitation, fully complicit tonight.

That’s all it takes; Cas surges forward, arm winding around Dean and hand twisting in his t-shirt, his face warm where it pushes against the side of Dean’s neck.

“Answer’s yes,” Dean whispers, unnecessary, and Cas lets out a small snort. Dean lets his palm move in slow circles across Cas’s back, feeling out the shape of his shoulder-blades, the muscles along his spine.

“Is it everything you dreamed it would be?” he snarks, but Cas just sighs, pressing closer, and nods.

Dean swallows.

“Oh. Well. It ain’t half-bad for me, either, I guess,” he manages, heart beating just a little bit too fast, considering he’s about to go to sleep.

In response, he swears he feels Cas smile.

Cas is up before him — of course — but for once, he isn’t there.

The door is open; Dean can smell coffee and toast, though, can hear his brother speaking quietly, and he figures Sam probably caught Cas doing his staring thing and decided to coax him out for breakfast.

Which, Dean would _love_ some breakfast — but he also recognizes the opportunity for what it is.

As quietly as he’s able, he fishes the book out of his bag and cracks it open, the spine so stiff he almost wonders if it’s ever even been read before. He pauses, listening carefully, but Sam sounds like he’s rambling on about something or other, so Dean positions the blanket to obscure the book from view of the doorway and starts reading.

_Unicorns are the fairest and rarest and most majestic of all supernatural beings._ _Popular legend speaks of fierce, wild_ _and_ _proud beasts, which cannot be tamed or captured but through their draw to fair maidens. While there is a grain of truth in all legends, the reality is much more complex._

_What is not known, has never before been hinted at, is that unicorns are, in fact, an exceptionally rare type of_ angel, _a special class of the Watchers, tasked with overseeing humanity. Where the other Watchers typically observe, infrequently interfering, the Unicorn takes a much less passive role._

_That role is Defender of Righteous Maidens*, and the Unicorn takes a partially human form to protect Righteous Maidens from the violence in the hearts of men._

_*The author uses the term Maiden in a broader, more abstract sense of purity, one divorced from the longstanding politics of the patriarchy. It may also be noted that ‘righteousness’ can be flexibly defined and isn’t even always necessary, especially for stubborn bleeding-heart types of unicorns._

Even without the bizarre footnote, the passage gives Dean pause, enough that he half-closes the book to look at the cover. It’s not that there’s anything that really _contradicts_ what Cas is doing — it’s statistically unlikely most of the women Cas saved were virgins, certainly — but an _angel_? Dean’s literally never heard anything like that.

_Unicorns, by Anonymous_

Dean stares. _Really_? Some asshole didn’t even wanna attach their name to this?

With a sigh, he reopens it and continues reading. It’s all he’s got, for now.

_Unlike most other types of angels, Unicorns do not rely on their connection to Heaven for their power. Their defining feature — their horn — is their power source, and it luminesces with a blue-white glow when in partial-to-full trueform, which will be described further in Chapter II._

_As mentioned, the other angels are strictly Watchers, rarely permitted to intervene, and only after intensive and boring Heavenly discours_ _e._ _Unicorns’ affinity for humanity,_ _however,_ _allows them to receive prayers from maidens in need of protection and mete out justice as they see fit. It is because of this that Unicorns are the rarest type of angel; only the most purehearted of angels are_ _chosen for the calling and granted_ _this power, though such pureheartedness does not always correlate with wisdom, and well-meaning_ _U_ _nicorns can do incredibly stupid things for a species that isn’t even that special._

Okay. That’s . . . weird.

_Of course, Unicorns are also the sensitive little infants of angels, and their sweet, tenderhearted nature makes them prone to disillusionment and subsequent corruption. Other more level-headed angels may try to guide the Unicorn, to shelter it from experiences that would result in said disillusionment and corruption, but Unicorns are stubborn and headstrong and notoriously bad at listening to quality advice._

As worrying as this whole ‘corruption’ thing is, Dean is starting to wonder if he’s actually picked up someone’s self-published fanfiction — until the next sentence catches his eye.

_Like the other Watchers, Unicorns rarely walk amongst humanity outside of their answering of prayers. On rare occasions, angels, including Unicorns, may take on the role of guardianship, or act as temporary guides to lost souls. Unlike other angels, however, the Unicorn’s ability to serve in these capacities can be limited. To walk among humans, an angel must conceal their divinity, an act which takes considerable power; a Unicorn can only do this for one hundred days on earth, before they become unable to maintain human form and must return to Heaven to recuperate._

And even though Dean’s pretty sure that’s bullshit, his stomach flips uncomfortably. Cas is a couple months in, already, and it feels like he’s both been with Dean forever and for hardly any time at all.

Dean can’t really imagine him not being there in another month or so.

But this _is_ bullshit, isn’t it? Nothing about this sounds like anything else Dean’s ever heard, and even if it were — every time they’ve talked about it, Cas acts like he’s sticking around for good. If he had some shitty one-hundred-day timeline, he’d have at least hinted at it.

Reluctant, Dean keeps going.

_The only circumstances under which a Unicorn can maintain a human form indefinitely is when they’ve formed a sufficient bond with a righteous human; the bond between soul and grace stabilizes_ _their divinity — a divinity characterized by its affinity for humanity — and enabl_ _es_ _the Unicorn to remain among humans without their nature becoming apparent (more on that in Chapter Five)._

And even though it’s almost _certainly_ bullshit, Dean flips straight to Chapter Five.

_Chapter Five: The Bond_

_As rare as_ _t_ _he Unicorn is, a Unicorn’s drive to Bond is even rarer._ _There are_ _only_ _six_ _attempted Bonds_ _on record, and only one has ever been successful. Some angels argue that this is due to the complicated rules surrounding the_ _B_ _onding effort, while other angels strongly feel that the fault lies with the selfish, fickle, careless nature of humanity; the latter is a much more supportable argument, evidenced by the fate of the only_ _B_ _ond successfully made: the human’s attention wandered and the_ _B_ _ond was broken. With the break, all the humanity within the Unicorn bound to like and withdrew from it along with the human’s soul._

_The Unicorn, twisted and corrupted, committed unspeakable atrocities on Earth, and was ultimately hunted and caged by its brethren. No Bond has been successful since._

_As mentioned, however, there are strict rules regarding the_ _B_ _onding attempt, not that they make any particular sense. A_ _B_ _ond attempt begins with the Unicorn assuming fully human form, to be maintained — excepting incidents of defense and protection — for one hundred days. While an un-_ _B_ _onded Unicorn in full human form literally_ cannot _speak without revealing its divinity, it is also forbidden from all other communication forms that would allow it_ _to_ _very_ _specifically communicate with any humans. This rule supposedly protects the sincerity of the_ _B_ _ond; if the Unicorn and their chosen human are unable to form an unofficial_ _B_ _ond without words, then grace and soul must surely be ill-suited._

_The Unicorn itself is, therefore, prohibited from revealing its nature or purpose to the human;_ _in fact, all explicit progress toward a consummated bond must be initiated by the human;_ _this is intended to protect the Bond from being formed under pressure, though other angels almost always bend this rule in an effort to aid the Unicorn in its chosen path, taking it upon themselves to nudge the human in the right direction._

_Regardless, the Unicorn has exactly one hundred days to have their Bonding desire reciprocated, and the Bond manifested in the necessary way (said way varies depending on the nature of the Unicorn’s attachment to the human)._

_If it is not, the Unicorn returns to Heaven, grace acknowledging a formal rejection, and the human’s soul becomes repellent to them forever after._

_The two are never to meet again._

Dean shuts the book with a snap, cold all over.

The voice in the kitchen pauses.

“Dean?” Sam calls, and Dean scrambles out of bed, shoving the book in the side of his duffle. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah!” Dean yells back. “Need to use the bathroom and I’ll be right out.”

Shaken — though it’s just a dumb book, and whatever Cas is, he’s not going anywhere — Dean relieves himself, splashes some cold water on his face, and heads out to the kitchen for coffee.

“If Sam’s annoying you, just let me know and I’ll get him out of your hair for a bit,” Dean says, halfway through Sam’s incredibly detailed recounting of the Harry Potter series.

Cas’s lips quirk, and he shoots Dean an amused look before returning his attention to Sam.

And fine, Sam’s a pretty good storyteller, even if Dean knows they’ll probably just end up starting the movies, anyway, but Sam got to Cas before Dean was even _awake_ and it feels like he hasn’t shut up since.

And Dean would be happy to interrupt, see about taking Cas out to see the sights or something, give him a break because surely people who are not Dean don’t want to spend the whole day with Dean’s brother, but Cas just listens attentively, occasionally holding up a questioning hand, at which point Sam backtracks and tries to figure out what the question was.

He generally succeeds.

Anyway, Cas has barely looked at Dean all day, and since Dean’s read the books half a dozen times, this just isn’t as interesting to him, you know?

“Actually,” Sam muses, eyeing Cas intently. “Dean never said — can you read?”

Cas nods, and Dean pauses chewing a potato chip, a little shocked.

“Dude. You didn’t tell me you could read.”

Dean’s not sure who looks more exasperated, Sam or Cas.

“Well, did you _ask_ him?”

“Well — I mean — I’ve never seen him read!”

Cas sighs.

Dean scowls.

“Wait — then can he write?” Sam asks, excitement creeping into his voice, but Cas quickly shakes his head. “Not even a little?”

He shakes his head again, very firm, and Dean can’t help it.

He thinks about that book, about the rules, which sound completely stupid and made up, but also kind of fit the situation they have going here.

Of course, that would mean Dean’s not only a righteous human Cas wants to — to _soulbond_ with, but that Dean’s going to lose him entirely in barely over a month’s time.

“Huh.” Curiosity and suspicion war in Sam’s face, and Dean clears his throat.

“Maybe we should just watch the movies, Sam,” he says, and Sam nods slowly.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Pizza?”

“Thought you’d never ask, bitch,” Dean quips, relieved, and reaches for the phone.

Dean, apparently gullible and superstitious both, doesn’t even hesitate that night. As soon as they’re both under the covers and the light’s off, he reaches for Cas, wrapping around him in a way he hopes says ‘casual bedtime cuddles’ instead of ‘promise me you’re not going anywhere because I’m neither ready for you to leave or ready to decide how long I actually want you to stay and _anyway_ , it’s making me really fucking insecure.’

Cas just sighs and burrows into him, so Dean assumes he succeeded.

Still. All through dinner and Harry Potter and getting ready for bed, Dean’s been hyperaware of the skinny little book stashed in his duffle, and even though he’s almost _positive_ there’s nothing to it, he’s itching to read more, just in case, and to flat out _ask_ Cas about it.

To at least let him know Dean _knows_ what he (probably) is.

But if, against all odds, the book is telling the truth — that’s not allowed. It sounded like there was some magical bullshit involved, and if there’s something to this whole bond thing — if somehow, Cas isn’t just a random stray Dean picked up, but he _chose_ Dean—

Well, Dean doesn’t wanna mess it up. It’s weird as hell and he’s certainly not saying he’s _interested_ in that, but — but he doesn’t want to fuck it up, either.

Just in case.

“Cas,” he says eventually, almost surprised he hasn’t fallen asleep yet, though his busy thoughts have caused him to subconsciously tighten his hold on Cas, so they’re probably keeping Dean awake, too. “You, uh. Am I . . .”

Cas pulls away a little, just enough to look at him, and Dean swallows.

“Of all the people you, uh, that you’ve met. Do you — would you say I’m, uh — your favorite?”

Cas looks surprised, and the pause before his answer is enough to make Dean doubt, especially when the surprise turns to frustration.

“It’s okay if I’m not,” he says hastily. “I mean, for all I know, I’m just the guy who’s lettin’ you live with him till you’re back on your feet so—”

Cas covers his mouth with a firm palm, eyes narrowed.

“Mrph?”

And Dean’s pretty sure Cas is trying, with every fiber of his being — divine or otherwise — to communicate something with the look he gives, though Dean can’t be sure what the nature of that communication is.

Dean shakes off his palm.

“Is that a no?”

Cas huffs and jerks his head in the negative.

“So . . . I’m your favorite?”

He nods.

“You cho—I mean. You’d choose me?” There’s a sharp look, at that, clear even in the dark. “Given a, uh, a choice?”

Slowly, Cas nods.

“And . . . you still wanna stay with me, right?”

Cas nods again, eyes flicking between Dean’s.

Dean swallows.

“Just till you get back on your feet? Or . . . indefinitely?”

He hears Cas inhale, feels Cas’s grip on his shirt tighten before he nods.

“To the second thing, right?”

The next nod is immediate, which—

Dean doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how to feel about that — about someone, divine or otherwise, _choosing_ him — but it seems important, even if he’s not sure what to do with it.

“Oh. Uh. Awesome.” Cas’s brow dips. “I — you know I — it’s been really nice, havin’ you around. I, uh. I’d be sad if you left.”

Cas slides a hand up toward his neck, thumb brushing his jaw as he slowly, seriously shakes his head.

“Not going anywhere?” Dean clarifies, and Cas nods slightly, the beginnings of a smile on his face. “Good to know.”

That thumb keeps stroking, Cas’s face inches away, and Dean wishes things were simpler, that at times like these, when it would be so easy to lean in and make contact — when Dean really, really _wants_ to — he could just do it, without worrying about the fallout.

But they’re not simple, and he can’t, so instead he tilts forward, resting his forehead against Cas’s, noses brushing.

“Thanks for choosing me,” he mumbles, and Cas draws in a sharp breath, thumb pausing. “G’night, Cas.”

A moment later, Cas’s thumb resumes its motion, and then Dean is falling, fast asleep in minutes.

For once, Dean has a good dream.

A _great_ dream, arguably, one that involves that simpler world Dean wished for last night, a world where he and Cas have apparently made it _way_ far past cuddling and into territory that results in Dean returning to the land of consciousness with a demanding situation in his pajama pants and every intention of dealing with it.

Until he blinks sleepy eyes open, that is, and finds Cas staring at him.

Except this morning, Cas is not staring at his face, and Dean follows his gaze in groggy confusion, only to realize what probably woke him up.

The blanket, as it happens, is pulled back, leaving Dean — and more importantly, the situation in his pants — utterly exposed.

A situation Cas is regarding with intense curiosity and — something else Dean’s not ready to handle right now.

(Or is maybe feeling _too_ ready to handle.)

“Son of a _bitch!_ ” he yelps, yanking the cover back over himself, cheeks burning. “For fuck’s sake, Cas!”

Mildly offended, Cas finally looks at his face, a question in his eyes.

“Oh, come on! Don’t tell me I seriously have to explain _this_ to you!”

Cas shrugs, nonplussed.

“Jesus Christ, you — you — that’s my _dick,_ Cas! You’re not supposed to look at it!”

Cas frowns, glancing back down and gesturing pointedly.

“I don’t care what it’s doing, you can’t _look_! Actually, _especially_ if it’s doing — _that,_ you’re supposed to pretend it’s not happening! It’s just _polite_!”

If anything, Cas looks incredibly _annoyed._

There’s a lengthy silence, argument brewing in Cas’s expression, before it’s interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Uh. Could you guys, um, could you keep it down?”

Dean rolls over, burying his face into the pillow with a groan.

“God _damn_ it,” he mutters, and Cas—

Cas has the nerve to slot into place behind him with a happy sigh.

Dean tries to console himself that at least _Cas_ isn’t hard, too, but somehow, it doesn’t really make him feel better.

“So, uh, there’s a cat cafe in town,” Dean announces, once he’s confirmed such a thing via surreptitious web-browsing on his cell while Sam talks to Cas about some random nerdy thing.

(To be fair, Dean’d probably be interested, too, if he weren’t busy plotting.)

“But you’re allergic,” Sam says, puzzled, and Dean shrugs.

“Yeah, but I thought you could go ahead and take Cas. I think he’d really like it.”

“But what about you?”

Dean shrugs again.

“Might take a nap, maybe call Jo and see how things are going.”

Sam hesitates, glancing at Cas.

“Well, I’m game, if Cas wants to.”

Cas gives Dean an uncertain look.

“You can order tea and pet the cats,” Dean says, as encouragingly as he can. “And Sam can tell you more about his boring star stuff.”

“It’s not—” Sam starts, then realizes Dean’s just razzing him. “ _Anyway._ Cas?”

After a long, searching look at Dean, Cas nods.

And as soon as they’re ready to go and out the door, Dean hurries back to the bedroom to get the book.

Two hours later, they return, and Dean’s so lost in thought, he barely remembers to put the book away.

He’s done with it, anyhow. Read the whole damn thing and came to two conclusions.

One, Cas is definitely an angel/unicorn — angelcorn? — of the variety the book is talking about.

And two . . .

Dean’s got about a month to decide what he wants to do about it.

Cas initiates tonight’s cuddle, which is both surprising and not. Dean gathered, from the rulebook, that there are certain types of things Cas is _not_ allowed to initiate, but once Dean draws their new line, he’s free to act.

Because Cas is a unicorn and he chose Dean, wants to bind his divinity to Dean’s fucking _soul —_ and God knows why he thought _that_ would be a good idea — and until Dean makes a decision about that, he can’t even use words to fucking ask Dean for what he wants.

Nope, Cas is stuck, hovering at Dean’s side without a voice and limited in what he can even _do,_ just hoping Dean will like him enough to decide to keep him forever.

Which is _another_ thing; Dean gets that the human that other unicorn chose left them high and dry so they went on a rampage, but what happens if the _unicorn_ changes their mind? Because while Dean is reeling, doesn’t see how a hundred days is nearly enough time to make that kind of decision _—_ is still having trouble believing _Cas_ made a choice like that about _him —_ he does know that if he accepts the bond or whatever, he’s going to be sure he means it.

Cas, on the other hand . . .

Like, what? Cas hung around a crime scene too long and got taken to the police station, and instead of flying off and going home (because apparently unicorns, like other angels, have _wings,_ and if Dean had any other explanation for Cas’s untraceable mobility, he’s not sure he’d believe it) he took one look at Dean and decided, _wow, what a dreamboat, looks like forever to me._

Like, what the _fuck_? Sure, the author indicated — _frequently,_ and with clear prejudice _—_ that unicorns could be kind of naive and impractical, but they’re still _angels._ There are limits.

What the hell would Cas choose _Dean_ for? Maybe Dean’s kind of hot, but is he hot enough to tempt a powerful, divine being to bond with him forever?

Even if Cas thought so — shouldn’t he have changed his mind by now?

But he _hasn’t._

No, two months in and Cas is rolling Dean onto his back and carefully arranging himself to achieve what appears to be maximum contact, finally tucking Dean’s arms around him when he’s through, like poor inept Dean doesn’t even know how to cuddle properly but that’s okay, Cas has it covered.

And Dean — Dean has no idea what to do, really isn’t crazy about the idea of Cas leaving him for good, but is also terrified of trying to make a decision that _big_ when he doesn’t even know what will happen to him when Cas changes his mind later (because if it’s _Cas_ who withdraws, then what of _Dean’s_ soul does he take with him?) — but once he’s got his arms full of Cas, his gut instinct is just to _hold on,_ for now.

So that’s what he does, and Cas holds him back, fingers gently carding through Dean’s hair in a ridiculously soothing motion, like he knows Dean needs it, and Dean falls asleep like that, unsure but comforted.

Because even though he knows, now, that Cas the Unicorn doesn’t sleep — he also knows he’s watching over Dean.

And while Dean’s not sure he _needs_ it — he appreciates it, all the same.

Dean’s not ashamed to say he’s been using Cas as a buffer to avoid having to talk to his brother _about_ Cas, but on their third night there, he and Sam decide to head to a bar for some pool and nachos, just like old times.

Except when he tries to hustle Cas into the bedroom to change, Cas waves him off, holding up the first Harry Potter book.

“Dude. You _just_ saw the movie.”

Cas gives him a blank look, then turns to Sam, who shrugs.

“C’mon, Dean. Everybody knows the books are better. You’ve said it yourself.”

Dean purses his lips.

“But — we’re gonna play pool. And eat nachos! _Nachos,_ Cas. Don’t you wanna eat nachos?”

Cas hesitates, glancing between him and Sam, then firmly shakes his head and reopens his book.

Dean tries to coax him out again before they leave, but Cas is insistent, and thirty minutes later he’s sitting in a booth, Sam earnestly sipping a milkshake across him, and bracing himself for the attack.

He doesn’t have to wait long. The nachos have barely been set down before Sam is clearing his throat.

“So. Cas.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“How long have you been sitting on this one?”

Sam shrugs.

“Weeks.”

Dean’s not surprised.

“And?”

“And then you got here, and I realized you guys _sleep_ together. And _shower_ together? And he — you know, in the mornings, he just _watches you sleep._ ”

“Whatever makes him feel better,” Dean mumbles, just glad his brother doesn’t know Cas probably does that _all night,_ and Sam nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, actually — I agree.”

“Okay. What does that mean?”

“It means I was . . . kind of worried? About you, because you took a stranger in, and about Cas, because it sounded like he maybe wasn’t all there, and — you know, it just — it didn’t sound like the ideal situation.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But actually, now that I’ve met him — like, actually spent time with him — and seen you around each other . . . I don’t know, I feel a lot better about it. I get why you took him in.”

“Well, gee, Sammy, thanks for your blessing—”

Sam sighs.

“I’m just saying. It’s not as weird as I thought it would be? But—”

“Of course there’s a ‘but’—”

“But Cas is really — he’s intense, man,” Sam continues, eyes searching. “You know he really likes you, right?”

And jesus, Sam doesn’t know the half of it.

“Well, he _must,_ if he can tolerate rooming with me,” Dean starts, hoping to joke his way out of it, but Sam just stares him down.

“Dean. Be serious.”

Dean sighs.

“Yeah, okay, Cas likes me. I think he’s pretty cool, too. What about it?”

Sam’s brow pinches together.

“No — Dean, he _likes_ you. And I guessed that, from what Jo said, but I thought it was just a weird sort of — response, I guess, to whatever it was he’s been through, or to you taking him in like that. But it doesn’t seem like that’s it. I’m pretty sure Cas understands perfectly fine, and — and he _likes_ you. A _lot._ As in, he’s serious about this. And — I don’t know, I just want to make sure you knew that. And that you should probably take it seriously, in return.”

Dean swallows.

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, Sam, I, uh, I did get that. And I . . . am.”

“Okay.”

Sam waits, like he expects something to follow.

Dean hesitates.

“I just . . . what if, uh, what if for some reason, he was on a time limit? Like — say if I don’t decide that I — you know. What if it meant he had to leave and he couldn’t come back? But I’m not sure yet, if I just _like_ him, or if I — you know, if I’m ready for that, uh, that kind of commitment. Because — because usually this shit takes _time,_ right? Whether you feel that spark or not, you can’t know, not in three goddamn months. _Right_?”

Sam looks stunned.

“Are you — Dean, is Cas going to get _deported_?”

Dean blinks.

“Uh. Kind of?”

“Wow.” Sam sits back, clearly thinking hard. “ _Wow._ And you’re really — you’re actually considering _marrying_ him?”

That’s one word for it, Dean supposes, except at least he knows the worst-case scenario as far as divorces go.

“I . . . I mean, I don’t want to — at least not yet — but . . . letting him go like that doesn’t — it doesn’t seem right.”

“Yeah, no, I get that, but — _marriage_ ? Like you said, it’s not — it isn’t really enough time. I mean, I figured you guys would take it _slow,_ if anything, not . . . dive in.”

Dean nods vigorously.

“Right? Because that’s — who does that? It’s 2019, man, there’s no rush. Except there is, and I just — damn it, it’s not fair. I should get to actually make a decision, shouldn’t I?”

“Of course,” Sam agrees. “Both of you should. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I can tell Cas really likes you, and he seems pretty great so far, but . . . like you said. That’s kind of a big leap.”

“ _Exactly._ But if I don’t take it, then — that’s it. He’s gone.”

“Where’s he from, anyway?” Sam asks, totally left-field, and Dean freezes.

“Uh. I . . . you know, I’m not actually sure.”

“But how can they deport him if they don’t know where he came from?”

“Well, uh. I mean. They’ll figure it out, won’t they? And when they do . . .”

Sam nods.

“Yeah. But — maybe it’ll take a while? I mean, if they haven’t by now, and he’s not saying — I’m guessing it’s not that easy. Maybe you have more time than you think?”

_I really don’t,_ Dean wants to say, but as much as he hates lying to Sam, he’s not about to explain the whole unicorn thing.

"Yeah. Maybe.”

Sam clears his throat.

“In the meantime . . . you should get to know him.”

“I live with him, Sam, I think I’m doing that.”

“Sure, and it looks like it’s going pretty well, but — like, have you thought about making a move?”

Dean raises a brow.

“What, you’re not worried I’m taking advantage?”

“I was,” Sam readily acknowledges. “Not as much now, though. Honestly, I don’t — I know Cas seemed kind of naive about stuff, but I get the impression he knows what he’s doing with you, at least. I don’t think he’d still be here if he didn’t want to be.”

“No. No, uh, I don’t think so, either.”

“So . . . if you’re seriously considering this — which is a pretty big deal, for you — then maybe it’s time to give it a try? More of a try?”

“I . . . I mean, I could.” And yeah, Sam’s not wrong. Dean’s been wondering about that ever since he finished the book and realized why Cas got so frustrated with him before, when he told him they had time. They _don’t_ have time. They’re on a deadline here, and Dean can get bitch about it all he wants, but it won’t change anything.

As far as making a _move_ goes, though . . .

_The human’s love for the unicorn must be as pure as the unicorn itself, of course. A unicorn given over to lust will relinquish all divine power bestowed upon them . . . in layman’s terms: no hanky-panky allowed._

“I just. I don’t think — you know, there’s stuff, certain stuff, that — I don’t think will be part of a relationship? So I gotta be careful. ‘Bout what kind of move I make.”

Sam stares at him.

“What?”

“You know. Like, even if we end up getting married, we wouldn’t . . . do stuff. Ever. You know?”

His brother blinks, and Dean desperately hopes he’s not going to have to spell it out, because while he likes to think that’s not a _dealbreaker,_ he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t somewhere on the list of things he’s nervous about.

“Are you saying he’s . . . asexual?”

Dean hesitates.

“Basically.” Can’t-have-sex-without-giving-up-all-your-powers is pretty much the same thing, right? Because come _on._ Who the hell would think that was worth it? _Magic powers._ Dean loves sex as much as anyone, but if you offered him honest-to-god _superpowers_ , he’s pretty sure he’d make do with his hand.

“Huh.” Sam looks disturbingly thoughtful. “That’s . . . surprising. I mean, nothing wrong with it, it’s just he looks at you like . . .”

“Like what?” Dean asks, because apparently he hates himself. Even if Cas spends every sleepless night fantasizing about all the dirty things they could do together — which seems unlikely, given the whole angelcorn thing — that doesn’t mean he’d ever be willing to act on it, not when so much is at stake.

Dean suppresses a sigh.

“Well, it could be my imagination, but — I know he can’t actually talk, so are you sure you understood him right?”

“I’m sure,” Dean mutters weakly.

“Wow. Okay. And . . . you’re okay with that?”

“More worried about the shotgun wedding, Sammy.”

“Fair,” Sam agrees, and he looks almost proud. “So . . . maybe just take him on a date?”

Dean considers this.

“Yeah. Maybe I should.”

And on that note, he eats his goddamn nachos.

“Cas,” Dean says, when they’re going to bed later. Dean doesn’t seem to fall asleep as quickly when they start out snuggling — although, that makes sense; his brain probably thinks there’s still something happening that he needs to stay awake for — and before bed is as good a time for a conversation as any. “You, uh. You know what a date is, right?”

Cas squints at him, and Dean coughs.

“I mean the, uh. Not like, calendar dates, or — uh. Food. But the kind people go on?”

Cas blinks, and then he shifts, propping up a little as he stares into Dean’s face.

“Like, if I — if I asked you on one? On a date? You’d know what I was asking?”

Cas bolts upright at that, one palm flat against Dean’s chest for balance.

“Is that a yes?”

He nods quickly, a look in his eyes that almost seems _hungry._

“Oh.” Dean swallows, reaching up to cover that hand with his own. “Then . . . when we get home — do you wanna go on a date? With me?”

Cas crowds in close in one fluid moment, palms on either side of Dean’s face as he rests their foreheads together, breathing in deep.

He nods.

“Awesome,” Dean whispers, and Cas digs his fingers in a little, tilting his head until his mouth is only millimeters away.

Dean thinks he understands, is pretty sure Cas is asking to be kissed, here, because he can’t do it until Dean does; because while Cas did the choosing, everything else is up to Dean.

And even though Dean’s a _little_ worried about, he’s also a human being with self-control, and there’s no way in hell _kissing_ counts as ‘giving over to lust.’

So Dean tilts his head up and gives over to something else instead, something a little bigger and a lot more terrifying, and Cas goes very, very still, his grip on Dean’s face almost painful.

“Is this okay?” Dean asks, just in case, and above him, Cas shudders.

And then he nods, and then he kisses him back, soft and desperate all at once, and when Dean finally pulls back, he finds Cas’s eyes still half-open, shining in a way that almost makes them look wet.

“You good?” he whispers, and Cas nods again, hands finally relaxed but still petting over Dean’s face and hair, light and reverent. “We should go to bed. Sam wants to take you to the zoo tomorrow.”

Cas smiles, letting his head drop until his cheek rests against Dean’s, faintly scratchy from stubble but carefully held still, so as not to hurt.

Dean counts three deep, even breaths, and then he’s asleep.

Dean’s understanding about the whole initiation thing must be right, because Dean takes less than five steps into the kitchen the next morning, still grumpy and squinty-eyed from sleep, when Cas leaps out of his chair and just fucking _plants_ one on him.

He can hear Sam choke on his coffee, but he’s too busy rebooting again to tell him to mind his own damn business.

“Uh. Mornin’, Cas," he mumbles against his mouth, and Cas pulls away to smile at him, eyes bright.

After a lengthy moment of suspiciously self-satisfied staring that is apparently only awkward for Sam and Dean, he pivots, reaching for a still steaming mug and pressing it into Dean’s hands.

“Oh. Thank you.”

He can _feel_ Sam Looking at him, but there’s coffee to be drunk and it’s too early to deal with it, so he ignores it.

Instead, he sips from the mug and tries not to wonder how long Cas has wanted to kiss him.

Dean makes them both breakfast, Cas hovering uncomfortably close until Sam finally manages to lure him back to the table, and about two seconds after Dean’s done doling eggs out onto Cas’s plate, he’s rewarded with a firm, wet press of lips to his mouth.

“Oh, my _God,_ ” Sam mutters, and Dean hastily returns to the stove for the bacon.

(He gets two kisses for bacon, warm and enthusiastic, and he guiltily files it away for future reference.)

They get ready to go out, after that, and if Dean thought washing Cas’s hair was a little awkward before, when he was trying to pretend he didn’t think Cas was both devastatingly hot and adorable as fuck, washing Cas’s hair post-kisses is a nightmare.

And really, Dean doesn’t think it’s his fault. Dean’s prepared to be professional and long-suffering, as he always is, and keep his eyes firmly fixed on either the top of Cas’s head or the wall, in and out as quickly and efficiently as possible, but _Cas,_ for his part, is not.

Nope, Cas refuses to turn around, today, eyes boring into Dean’s when they’re not shut against the soapy water, and he insists on standing so close their toes occasionally brush, getting even more water on him than usual.

Dean struggles to focus, so much that it takes twice as long to massage the shampoo through Cas’s hair. The moment he’s done rinsing, Cas brushes the water out of his eyes and loops his arms around Dean’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

And Dean wants to protest — Sam’s waiting on them, Dean's getting soaked, and this is really not the time — but he ultimately decides to go with it, if only because he doesn’t want Cas to misunderstand and get his feelings hurt.

But then Cas’s arms tighten, and he presses in close, water-slick and extremely _naked_ body sliding up against Dean's as he sighs into Dean’s mouth, and Dean experiences a rush of heat so intense he’s surprised he doesn’t actually catch fire.

At which point he shakes Cas off, staggering back so abruptly he nearly slips.

“Jesus, Cas — don’t — not in the shower!”

Cas blinks, lashes wet, and tilts his head.

“You can’t — people don’t do that while they’re naked,” he blusters, and Cas stares at him, incredulous.

Dean just stares back.

Cas’s brows lift, and he crosses his arms, waiting.

“Okay. Okay, fine, they do, but — but that’s when — you know. When _stuff_ is about to happen.”

Cas continues to wait, water raining down against his back, and Dean buries his face in his hands, trying not to shiver against the cold.

“Sex, Cas.” He looks up, suspicious. “You know what sex is, right?”

He swears to God he sees a glint of humor in Cas’s eyes, but Cas just presses his lips together and nods.

“Right. Well, naked kissing usually means sex.”

Cas shrugs.

“What? Don’t — don’t _shrug_ at me, what does that even _mean_?”

Cas just shrugs again, and then his arms drop, and then he fucking starts _advancing_. Dean shoves aside the shower curtain and leaps out of the tub with an undignified squeak.

“We’re not having shower sex while my brother’s waiting for us in the goddamn kitchen!” he snaps, heart racing. “Now put your damn clothes on.”

Snagging a towel off the rack, Dean starts drying himself off as best he can and shoves open the door to escape before Cas can try to talk him into anything stupid.

In the hall, Sam is mid-turn, face bright red.

“Oh, um,” he coughs. “Hey, Dean.”

Dean just sighs.

By the time everyone is dressed _—_ or changed into dry clothes, in Dean's case _—_ and buckled into Sam’s shitty Prius (which Dean insists on driving, anyway), Dean’s had enough of his brother’s uncomfortable, vaguely concerned looks.

He clears his throat.

“I’d just like to go on record here, and make it clear that, uh — Cas and I are _not_ having sex.”

Two heads snap toward him, both varying levels of confused and surprised.

“Um. Well, um, it’s not — you know, it isn’t really my business—”

“But we’re not,” Dean says firmly. “It was just a _—_ a misunderstanding, this morning, which I’m . . . sorry you overheard. Cas was not trying to have sex with me, though,” he finishes, by now convinced this is the truth.

Nope, Cas just wanted more kisses because it’s new and shiny, and he was probably utterly baffled as to why Dean kept going on about the sex thing.

Satisfied, Dean glances in the rearview mirror for confirmation, but Cas just looks incredibly perturbed.

Almost nervous, Sam looks back too, opening his mouth and then shutting it.

“Um,” he finally says. “Again, not my business, but . . .” he lowers his voice. “ _Are you sure about that_?”

“Yes,” Dean says loudly. “Cas doesn’t want to have sex with me,” he adds, shooting a meaningful look toward Cas.

Cas just stares at him, and then starts nodding vigorously.

Dean relaxes.

“See? He doesn’t.”

The nodding quickly turns to aggressive head-shaking, and Sam coughs.

“Maybe you guys should talk about that in private.”

“What? No, no, we don’t — Cas! Buddy. Come _on,_ ” he says, gritting his teeth, because _really_? “Sex would be a really bad idea, don’t you think?”

Cas looks appalled, then continues shaking his head emphatically.

“There could be a lot of _consequences,_ ” Dean insists, because how is Cas not getting this? As . . . _flattering_ as it is that he’s interested in doing that, theoretically, they both know they can’t. Dean doesn’t want Cas to lose his powers for some cheap thrill with the first halfway attractive human to cross his path, any more than Cas should want to risk it.

“Um, that’s — responsible, of you, Dean, but again, maybe — maybe you guys could talk about it _later_?” Sam continues, vaguely pleading, and Dean scowls.

“Fine. Later,” he promises, throwing Cas a dark look, and Cas practically sneers back, slouching against the window with an honest-to-god _pout._

What the hell is his _problem?_

Dean’s gone for less than ten minutes, off to get them food from the overpriced, mediocre zoo cafeteria, but as he’s winding around the little copse of trees to their shady table, he finds Sam and Cas have apparently wasted no time.

“. . . can be — frustrating, sometimes, I know, but honestly, I think this is a misunderstanding. He had the impression that you were asexual, you know, that you wouldn’t ever be interested in that kind of thing.”

Even five feet away and awkwardly positioned behind a tree, Dean can hear the huff Cas lets out, and his brother snorts.

“Right. Okay, I guess he was wrong?”

Dean can’t see Cas’s response, but Sam laughs again.

“Well, make sure he talks to you about it. And . . . you know, give it time? I know Dean can come off as pretty confident, and — I don’t know, casual, but this kind of thing is complicated, especially since he _does_ really like you.”

Which, _fuck you, Samantha,_ Dean can tell Cas about his feelings just fine on his own, thanks.

“Sorry, line was long,” Dean announces loudly, plunking the trays down in front of them with a nasty smile for Sam. “What’re we talking about?”

Sam looks unperturbed, reaching for his chicken wrap with a mild expression.

“Oh, not a lot. Just letting Cas know you’re kind of old-fashioned, you know, you don’t put out until the third date.”

Dean flushes, and in his peripheral, sees Cas straighten up.

Sam pauses.

“’Put out’ is slang for ‘have sex,’” he explains kindly, smirking at Dean, and Cas nods seriously, gaze going distant, which — Dean doesn’t even want to know what _that’s_ about.

“Eat your damn lunch,” he mutters, handing Cas his food. “You, too.”

Cas nods again, expression placid, then tucks in, table manners only slightly less atrocious than they were when he first came to Dean.

Dean takes the opportunity to glare at his brother, mouthing _fuck you_ over the table.

Sam, of course, just rolls his eyes.

Cas enjoys himself so thoroughly they stay until closing, even though Dean’s feet hurt and children are shrill and the zoo smells kind of funny, which he did _not_ get used to, like Sam promised he would.

Still, when Dean opens Cas’s door for him and gets a warm, hands-free kiss for his troubles before Cas stuffs himself and his assorted gift-shop treasures into the back, he grudgingly decides it was worth it.

The fact that Cas looks fucking _adorable_ in the obnoxiously colored zoo sweatshirt Sam bought him has nothing to do with it.

Sam, of course, throws him obnoxious, knowing looks the entire way home, but it doesn’t matter.

Dean still can’t quite stop smiling.

Cas seems to be having trouble, too, because his eyes are doing that warm, twinkly thing when they climb into bed for the night, the corner of his mouth ticked up.

“Pretty good day, huh?” Dean says, grinning back as he fluffs his pillow, then drops back onto it.

Cas promptly crawls on top of him, a full-blown smile on his face now, and nods.

Dean ignores the way his pulse jumps, reaching up to pinch the hem of thesweatshirt like this is no big deal, because it’s really not. It’s just Cas, keyed up from a fun day at the zoo, throwing down a more playful type of cuddle than usual.

“You sure you wanna sleep in this? Won’t you get hot?”

Cas’s gaze flicks to the side, and then he shrugs.

Dean decides that means ‘no, because unicorn mojo.’

“Mm. Alright. Well. It, uh. It looks real cute on you. So you know.”

There’s a long pause, Cas studying him, and then Dean swears his expression turns _sly._

Alarm bells start to go off in Dean’s brain just as Cas leans forward, elbows braced on either side of Dean’s neck, and tilts his head.

“Should probably go to bed,” Dean whispers, and Cas nods.

And then he kisses him, anyway, and if it’s more of a good-night makeout than a good-night kiss, well—

It’s still not ‘giving over to lust,’ so Dean decides to just not worry about it.

When it’s time to leave, Cas does that thing again, where he takes Sam’s hand in both of his and gazes into his eyes and it’s really fucking uncomfortable, except this time, Dean swears his brother’s eyes go misty, that confused look back on his face.

After what must be a full minute of unbroken eye contact, Cas reaches up to hug Sam, and Sam returns it, looking a little shaken but no less sincere for it.

“It, um. It really was great meeting you. I hope you come with Dean again next time.”

Cas nods, squeezing Sam’s hands, and then gets in the car.

“Did you seriously just _cry_ saying goodbye to _my_ boyfriend?” Dean asks as he goes in for his hug, but Sam fails to provide any snarky rebuttal.

“Maybe? I, um . . . it’s — it’s weird, but I almost felt like he was telling me something.”

“Telling you what?”

Sam shrugs, and they step apart.

“I just. I don’t know. We were looking at each other, and — suddenly I was thinking about — you know. About the kinds of things you usually try _not_ to think about? And then I just . . . I felt really . . . warm. Kind of — reassured.” Sam swallows, then adds quietly, “Peaceful.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, and Sam glances down, shaking his head.

“Yeah, sorry. Sounds crazy.”

“Nah. He’s, uh. He’s pretty expressive.”

Sam nods.

“He is.” And then Sam looks at him, strangely earnest. “Listen, Dean — I hope everything works out. I’m not gonna lie, marrying someone you barely know sounds kind of insane, no matter how much you think you like them, but . . . whatever you decide to do, I’ll support you.”

Dean raises his brows.

“So I _do_ have your blessing.”

Sam shrugs.

“If it’s what you want.”

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean mutters, scratching his neck. “A hug wasn’t enough?”

Sam just looks at him.

“Okay, fine. Thank you. If I get married, I’ll let you know.”

And even though he lets out a loud, bitchy sigh, Sam hugs him again, anyway.

Weirdly, the first thing Cas does when they get back, is go for a bath.

He’s behaved himself since the pre-zoo incident, so Dean’s not too worried about it — although a part of him wants to have dinner first — and he gamely perches on the toilet until Cas is ready for his hair wash.

(Although, _really,_ Dean knows he can do it himself, and he should probably make him.)

(Still.)

Once Dean’s shooed Cas out and washed up himself, he heads to the bedroom for some sweats, only to find Cas pulling on the white button-down he showed up in.

“Cas? You goin’ somewhere?”

Cas frowns at him, and then throws a navy henley at Dean.

It lands across Dean’s head, and he blinks beneath it.

“Am . . . _I_ going somewhere?”

Something _whaps_ against his torso, and he retrieves the shirt to find a pair of jeans at his feet, Cas giving him an impatient look.

“We goin’ out to eat?”

Cas shrugs, flipping his collar up and reaching for his tie with a determined look.

Dean hastily snatches out of his hands. Last time Cas tried to tie it, he nearly choked himself.

Unsurprised, Cas tilts his chin, expectant, and Dean deftly loops the tie around and knots it.

He hangs on for a moment, giving Cas a curious look.

“Seriously. Aren’t you hungry?”

Cas shrugs again.

“You’ve been in a car all day, don’t you wanna sprawl on the sofa and order takeout?”

A small frown appears.

“Really? You’d rather get back in the car and _go out_?”

Cas nods firmly, and Dean absentmindedly strokes the tie while he tries to wrap his brain around this.

And then it hits him.

“Cas — are you — are we getting ready for our _date_?” he asks, stunned, and Cas reaches up to still his hand, nodding.

Dean snorts.

“When I said ‘when we get back,’ I didn’t mean _right_ when we got back.”

Cas just shrugs, like maybe he knew that, but gently pulls free of Dean’s grasp and steps around him to look for socks.

Dean sighs.

“Ain’t gonna be much of a date, with no planning.”

Cas pauses, then briefly turns back around to kiss him.

Dean just stands there, speechless, as Cas finishes selecting his socks and heads out to the entry to find his shoes.

“Okay,” he eventually says. “I guess I’ll be ready in a few minutes, then.”

And no, it’s not much of a date, by conventional standards; they go to Dean’s favorite burger joint and then they find a bench on the park to sit on while Cas people watches and Dean tries not to fall asleep, and really, Dean feels pretty guilty about Cas’s first date ever not even being as special as some of the friendly outings they’ve been on.

But Cas smiles at him the whole drive home, and he kisses Dean in the elevator, and again while Dean is trying to get the damn apartment door unlocked, and several more times during the nightcap-and-show portion of the evening.

And then he very sweetly spoons Dean to sleep, feather-light kisses pressed to his neck and shoulders, breaths soft and warm, and Dean, drowsy and content, forgets to be concerned.

Speaking of things Dean forgot to be concerned about—

“God, are you sure _you’re_ not the vigilante?” Jo teases when he heads straight to her desk with coffee, though he thinks she looks a little less tired than when he last saw her.

Dean rolls his eyes, internally sweating. While he’s relieved Cas took a vacation from his job, too, the fact remains that Cas is probably gonna go avenging angel tonight, and given his tentative ties to the first case—

It’s entirely possible people will have questions.

Not for the first time, Dean wishes he could just _ask_ Cas about it, but he got from the book that that was kind of a no-no.

It’s frustrating as hell, is what it is.

“You’re right, you’re not that much of a badass. Maybe it’s Cas,” she suggests, smirking, and Dean’s stomach drops.

He forces a laugh.

“Cas? Could be. I mean, he made Sam spend two hours at a cat cafe since he wanted to hold _every single cat,_ which is supervillain material if I ever saw any.”

Jo’s lips quirk, though she looks thoughtful, and Dean starts trying to think of ways he can warn Cas to get out without implicating himself.

“So . . . you think our guy's a villain?”

Dean hesitates.

“A criminal, at least.”

“The two are pretty different.”

He shrugs, not entirely sure what she’s looking for.

“Do I approve of melting people’s innards? Not really. Is he preventing the kind of crimes we’d never know were committed, let alone manage to prosecute? Yeah. Do I hate that? No. I’m a cop. I can be committed to putting him behind bars and still appreciate the good he does.”

Jo sighs, leaning back in her chair with an unhappy face.

“Can you? He’s saved dozens of people, Dean. And yeah, the murder thing was kind of drastic, and it’s not his place to decide, but — shit, I don’t know. I’m sick of working this case, and when I think of solving it, and catching him, I just — I feel shitty about it.”

Dean relaxes a little, giving her shoulder a reassuring punch, which she reflexively returns, about fifty fucking times harder than the one he gave.

“Hey,” he offers anyway. “We do the best we can. In this case, though? It’s all dead-ends, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it ends up being something we just gotta live with.”

She sighs, nodding.

“Yeah. Yeah, I — I kinda hope you’re right.”

Dean hopes so, too, and it’s not until later that he realizes that would mean Cas sticking around for good.

He makes his biggest mistake without even realizing it.

Cas is waiting at home, unprompted, dressed to go out, and Dean figures this means they’re going on yet _another_ date. It seems excessive, in some ways, but they’ve got about a month exactly, now, so maybe they’re right to be excessive.

Anyway, Dean takes him to a bigger park this time, one they haven’t been to before and will hopefully be adequately impressive to Cas, and buys him a gyro from a foodtruck before finding a spot by the extravagant water fountain in the middle for them to sit.

As soon as they have, Cas puts down his gyro and digs a bag off sunflower seeds Sam must have bought him out of his trenchcoat pocket, carefully throwing some to the birds milling around nearby.

“You know,” he says, watching Cas resume eating, bag of seeds propped against his leg. “These are totally lame dates. One of us — probably me, in this case, since you don’t have a job and you can’t call in reservations — is supposed to wow the other person with some kind of big, special night on the town.”

Cas just smiles and shrugs.

“Yeah, I _know_ you don’t care, but I swear to God, if any of the people I worked with heard I took you for burgers and napped on your shoulder on a park bench for our first date, I’ll never hear the end of it. Jesus, maybe I should count some of the stuff we did before. Then we’d be on our like, twentieth date.”

Cas’s head snaps up, gaze sharp.

“What?”

He just keeps looking at Dean, intent, and Dean gives a self-conscious shrug.

“I mean. It — we kind of _have_ been dating, in a lot of ways. Like, we did it backwards, what with you movin’ in the night we met, but — but even that jackass Michael said we were goin’ on a date that one time, so yeah. This is definitely our twentieth date or so.”

Cas licks his lips, although it doesn’t look like he had anything on them.

“Except — damn it, what’d we do that night? Shit, I think it was burgers and a movie. Man, I _suck._ ”

No sooner have the words left his mouth than Cas leans over, awkwardly catching Dean’s lips with his own.

Dean tries not to smile, leaning back a little.

“I know it doesn’t matter to _you,_ but I-”

Cas just kisses him again, until Dean’s a little too breathless to speak, then pulls away and resumes eating his gyro.

“Well, alright then,” Dean mumbles. He’s still grinning by the time he’s halfway through his own gyro.

Of course, he doesn’t realize what he’s done until they get back home, Cas watching him unlock the door with what seems like a much more intent look than usual.

Dean’s not particularly concerned, though. Cas is always pretty intense.

It’s only once he shuts the door behind him, to then promptly be pushed up against it, that he starts to worry.

Not a lot, though. Kissing is pretty common territory for them, now, and ever since he cooled down from the shower incident, Cas seems to have remembered that sex is a no-go.

Nope, Dean leans back and enjoys the ride, so-to-speak — although he could almost swear Cas is getting frustrated — lightly mouthing at Cas’s neck and rubbing gentle circles across his back, until Cas’s hands fist tightly in Dean’s shirt and he insistently presses closer.

Reluctantly, Dean draws back, patting Cas’s shoulder.

“We should change and get ready for bed,” he murmurs, and Cas lets out a huff, tugging Dean back toward him.

Dean goes for a minute — or a few minutes, he’s not really keeping track — but then Cas reaches back and seizes Dean’s hands, dragging them uncomfortably far down his own body before wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck and kissing him, impossibly earnest and very nearly desperate.

Dean’s pulse jumps, even as his brain sets off warning bells.

“Hey,” he mumbles, though Cas keeps trying to kiss him. Ultimately, he’s forced to straighten up, tilting his head back and out of reach, though Cas just sighs and latches onto his neck.

He suppresses a shiver.

“Hey — Cas — look, not that this isn’t nice, but — uh. There’s other things we should be doing, you know?”

Cas stills, then abruptly pulls back, eyes dark.

Dean swallows. He opens his mouth to elaborate, suddenly nervous, but then Cas grabs his hand and starts pulling him across the room, down the hall. Dean feebly hopes they’re headed for the bathroom, but Cas marches right past it and into the bedroom, at which point Dean, heart pounding, decides that maybe there’s been a misunderstanding.

“Uh . . . buddy?”

Cas doesn’t respond, just grasps at his tie, trying to tug it free. On instinct, Dean reaches for it, halfway through unknotting it before he realizes undressing Cas probably just looks like encouragement.

As soon as the ends hang free, Dean hastily steps back.

“Cool. So, uh, so you — change in here, and I’ll, you know, I’ll go get started on my teeth.”

Cas just frowns at him, clumsily working the buttons of his shirt open until he’s able to pull it off altogether and oh, God, why is Dean even still standing here?

“Right. Yep. So, see you in a . . .” Cas, shirtless and squinting, steps close, reaching out to shut the door behind Dean. “Bit.”

Dean swallows.

“Cas?”

Cas, never taking his eyes off him, begins to undo his jeans.

“Uh, Cas. I thought — you know, we talked about this. We . . . I thought we weren’t gonna, you know. Do. Stuff.”

Cas tilts his head, pausing at the zipper to hold up three fingers, and gives Dean a pointed look.

Dean has _no idea_ what the fuck three fingers mean, and he doesn’t want to.

“I — what are you trying to tell me?”

Cas looks at him for a moment longer, then tugs the zipper and smoothly shucks off his jeans, and — oh.

Wow. Okay. Cas really, really liked all the kissing they did at the door. Which — okay, yeah, that probably explains why he thinks it’s a good idea to have power-nullifying sex. Dean gets that. Dean’s been that turned on before, to the point he forgets how to tell the difference between good ideas and bad ones.

Except this is a really, _really_ bad one and Dean doesn’t think he’s ever been _that_ far gone and oh, God, why is this different than seeing Cas in the shower, he’s not even _wet_ right now, but he looks even better, just miles of smooth, dry skin Dean wants to put his hands and mouth all over and — and—

“We can’t have sex,” he blurts out, scrambling to turn around and get the door. “We can’t — Cas, we _can’t.”_

Cas just crowds in behind him, breath hot against his neck, and reaches around to grasp Dean’s chin, turning his face back.

And when Dean sees him, blue eyes a little confused but mostly just _wanting_ —

It’s all he can do to still say _no._

“We can’t. I _won’t,_ ” he whispers, pleading. “Don’t ask me.”

Cas’s face falls.

“I’m sorry. But — it’s better this way. You know it is. We got a little carried away tonight, but we’re still okay, so — so let’s keep it that way, alright?”

And even though Cas doesn’t _look_ like they’re still okay, not at all, Dean reassures himself that Cas will thank him later.

And then he shakily slips out of the room, too cowardly to wait for a response.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: dark humor (related to STDs and, separately, dead parents, details in the notes), attempted rape/non-con (this one does target Dean, but will be marked with *** at the beginning and end of the scene, though it is referenced in subsequent scenes), phobic remarks about hairless cats, explicit sexual content (scene marked with &&& at the beginning and end), very brief discussion of bottom!Dean, details in the end notes.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and for your lovely comments <3

Cas doesn’t follow him, not to the bathroom or to bed, later on. Dean hears him go out on the balcony, and when he falls asleep shortly after two, Cas still hasn’t come back in.

Unlike their last fight, Cas does not make him breakfast in the morning. Dean comes out to find Cas half-reclined on the sofa, _Mulan_ playing quietly on the television and a bowl of cereal in hand.

“You want milk with that?” Dean asks awkwardly.

Cas pretends not to hear him.

Which — that’s kind of immature, isn’t it? Even if Dean didn’t have a really good, Cas’s-own-wellbeing-related reason for not tearing off his own clothes and finding out whether angelcorns do things any differently, punishing someone for not wanting to have sex with you is just all kinds of fucked up, isn’t it?

“Cas.”

Nothing.

“ _Cas._ ”

Cas sighs, head lolling back against the sofa as he squints at Dean.

“Seriously?”

Cas squints harder.

“God. You know this shit isn’t cool, right? I should be able to say I don’t want to have sex without being afraid of how you’re gonna react.”

The squint turns to horror, Cas scrambling to right himself and turn, worried eyes searching — at which point Dean remembers that Cas sort of makes a hobby out of stringing up the kinds of people who don’t take ‘no’ for answer.

He grimaces, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That’s not — damn it, Cas, you — alright. Alright, just — first things first. Are you eating that cereal dry on purpose?”

Cas hesitates, then shakes his head.

Dean figures this means Cas started his fucking cartoon before he went for a snack and forgot he could just _pause_ it, but he kindly doesn’t say, shuffling over to the fridge and grabbing the carton.

Once he’s splashed some into the bowl, Cas studying him anxiously all the while, Dean sighs.

“Look. I’ve gotta get ready for work, but — I’m not afraid of you. You didn’t — I don’t think you meant to do anything wrong, and we’ll talk about that when I get home, but — for now, just sit tight and don’t worry about it, okay?”

Cas quickly nods, though he continues to look heartbreakingly pitiful.

Of course, Dean caves, bending down to give him a quick kiss before he puts the milk away, and Cas tries to follow, making it halfway over the sofa before he recognizes it for a lost cause.

“I’m serious,” Dean calls over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, okay?”

Cas doesn’t look very reassured when Dean heads off to the bathroom, and is till sending him baleful looks when he comes out, so Dean detours back to the sofa, gesturing for Cas to stand.

Then he hugs him.

“I’ll see you after work, alright?”

Cas nods, grip around Dean nearly painful.

“Have a good day,” Dean mumbles into his hair. “Find somethin’ good to read or go see Missouri. Bet she missed you.” He clears his throat. “I’d miss you, if you went away for a week. Hell, I think I’d miss you if you were gone for a day, at this point.”

Cas shifts, burying his face in Dean’s collar, and Dean swallows.

“Kinda missed you last night, actually. Which, uh.” He huffs. “It sucks that of the two of us, I’m the only one who can talk, ‘cause — I’m just — I kind of suck at it. You deserve better, honestly.”

Cas shakes his head, arms somehow tightening further.

“Right, well, thanks, but it’s true. Ask anybody. Point is, I probably — I could explain myself better, and I’m gonna try to, I swear. Just — I have to go work, and honestly, this’ll probably go better if I have some time to figure out how to say it. But — everything’s gonna be okay, Cas. Trust me?”

After a moment, Cas lifts his head, blue eyes watery and clearly engineered to force regular human beings into bending to his will.

He nods, and Dean leans forward, lifting his chin to press a quick kiss to Cas’s forehead.

“Awesome. I’ll see you tonight.”

Heart heavy, he heads out.

“Jo,” Dean starts. “Have you ever . . . uh. Dated someone? That you wanted to throw down with but didn’t wanna throw down with you?”

Jo stares at him.

“Have I been turned down, yes, but — dude. The dating doesn’t usually happen in that case.”

“Well, maybe not _usually,_ but sometimes someone wants to date someone but they’re not comfortable with sex.”

“Oh.” She nods. “Yeah, fair. Can’t say I have any experience with it, though.”

Dean grimaces.

“Damn it.”

“Any particular reason you’re asking?”

He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I mean. I . . . so, uh. So Cas and I are dating.”

She is, Dean notes with shame, entirely unsurprised.

“And he doesn’t want to have sex with you?”

“Uh. Kind of — kind of the opposite.”

The ensuing silence seems to stretch on forever.

He coughs.

“I mean — I mean I _do,_ I just — can’t.”

Her brows lift.

“Holy shit — Dean, did you get an _STD_?” she demands — incredibly loudly, he might add — and he winces.

“What? No!”

“Are you fucking kidding me — how many times have we heard Jody’s talk, and you didn’t use a goddamn rubber—”

“That is _not_ —”

“Oh, God, which one is it? One of the curable ones, right? Fuck, did you get super gonorrhea, because—”

“ _I do not have an STD_!” he snaps, and swears to God he hears Henriksen snort, all the way across the room. When he looks up, though, Victor is studying his monitor very seriously, which means _he totally fucking heard._

“Sure,” Jo says, tone threaded with doubt, and Dean sighs.

“The _point_ is — Cas is pushing the issue, and I — I think I hurt his feelings, and I don’t know how to explain that sometimes a person cares about you a lot but still, for whatever _non-STD_ reasons, might not wanna have sex with you. Not without hurting his feelings _again._ ”

“Hell if I know,” she says helpfully. “Just — say that? That you don’t have an STD and it might be a good idea to wait a while? I mean, you guys have been dating for what, five minutes? A lot of people would feel like it was too soon.”

And if Dean _did_ have an STD — assuming it was completely manageable — he might just go with that.

But this isn’t a question of _not now._ It’s a question of never.

“I just . . . even if I’m dating him . . . I mean, _ethically,_ isn’t that a little different?”

She wrinkles her nose.

“No? If he can consent to dating you, he can consent to fucking you. And if you think he _can’t,_ then you shouldn’t be dating him.”

“But with the sex — even if he doesn’t have trauma or anything, isn’t that—”

“His choice? Yup. Let him make it.” She eyes him suspiciously. “Unless you’ve got a secret STD.”

“I don’t have a — damn it, Jo.”

“Dude, you’re seriously asking _me_ for advice? I’m worse at this shit than you are.”

“How can you be worse at this than me?” Dean protests. “I was raised by a single drunken father.”

“I was raised by a single, overbearing mother. In a _bar._ ”

“That is not worse.”

“Bars are totally different from the real world,” she argues. “And stop trying to out-tragic-backstory me. We’re one for one on dead parents.”

“You started it!”

“She didn’t,” Victor calls. “Also, you’re both crazy.”

“Damn it.”

“At least you had a Dad to teach you how to pick up women.”

“Most women don’t get taught how to pick up other women at all,” Dean retorts, and Jo raises her brows.

“What, so I’m just easy?”

He doesn’t take the bait.

“By that logic, I didn’t have a mom to teach _me_ about _boys_.”

“Hey, all my mom taught me about boys was how to aim a shotgun at ‘em.” She pauses. “Which has actually worked on a number of occasions. Huh. I think boys might be easy, too.”

Victor groans.

“Why the fuck are you having this conversation?”

Jo shrugs.

“Dean started it,” she reminds him. “Which, since you forced me to talk about my painful past for your own emotional gain—”

“ _What_ —”

“I think you should go get lunch.”

Dean does it, but only to buy himself time to think.

The thing is, Jo wasn’t . . . _not_ helpful.

Like, she was totally _un_ helpful, but one thing she did say kind of stuck out to him.

_His choice? Yup. Let him make it._

Because here’s the thing:

Cas, apparently, wants to have sex. And not just as a heat-of-the-moment, got-carried-away impulse; this morning, he was still hurt that Dean wouldn’t sleep with him.

Which means that, for some completely insane reason, even though he hasn’t even gotten his soulbond out of it, he’s ready to give up his powers for Dean on a fucking _offchance._

Unless he doesn’t _think_ it’s an offchance. The author said how naive unicorns were; maybe Cas thinks, now that they’re dating, Dean’s a sure thing.

Even so — Dean just can’t wrap his head around it. Dean’s not saying no to the bond, is inching closer to _yes_ with every day that passes, and if he _does_ say yes — he’s okay committing to a lifetime without sex once he does. After all, he gets _Cas._

All Cas gets, on the other hand, is _Dean,_ and if they go ahead and do the sex thing, he actually _loses_ out — big-time.

Unless . . . the author didn’t talk too much about that first unicorn with the broken bond, but they did call the human _fickle._ Was that it? Did the human cheat? Did they decide it wasn’t enough, without the sex?

Could that be why Cas is so determined? Is he afraid that Dean _won’t_ take him without it? Or worse, that if he _does,_ he’ll end up leaving Cas because of that?

Does Cas feel like he _has_ to give up his powers in order to get Dean to stay?

It’s a horrifying thought, but it would explain Cas’s reaction. Cas, after all, doesn’t know Dean knows they’re on a deadline. With less than a month to go, Cas must be getting kind of stressed out, must be feeling the pressure to lock things down or lose out altogether.

Except, what is he really losing out on? Like, Dean can’t help but feel like Cas must have come here on a whim, and even if he likes it so far — it can’t possibly be that big of a deal to him if Dean says _no._ Disappointing, maybe, but there are other humans in the metaphorical sea, and why would he give up his powers for someone he thought wouldn’t take him without sex? It’s not that Dean doesn’t get that — sex is important, to varying degrees, to a lot of people, and if you’re one of those people, making a commitment not to be able to express yourself in that way seems kind of huge for a three month relationship — but in that case, it starts looking like a question of straight up incompatibility. So . . . why would Cas still want it?

On the other hand, the author did say unicorns were sentimental. Maybe there’s some kind of weird, magical compulsion thing, where once Cas chooses him, he _has_ to see it through—

But in that case, wouldn’t Dean be doing him a favor, turning him down? Hell, wouldn’t that make it even more likely _Cas_ would be the one to change his mind later?

God. Dean doesn’t fucking know.

What he does know, though, is that the burden of choice rests on _his_ shoulders, for now. And maybe Jo is right, and Cas deserves a say — but Dean thinks he should at least wait to act on it until he knows Dean’s going to accept the bond.

_If_ Dean accepts, that is.

In the meantime . . . Dean just has to figure out how to explain that to him.

Cas is already working on dinner when Dean gets home, the bow on his apron still hopelessly mangled, and he hastens to the door to greet Dean with a kiss.

Dean blinks.

“Uh. Honey, I’m home,” he jokes, coloring, and Cas nods seriously, turning back to the kitchen.

Dean slips off his jacket and follows him to the stove.

“What’re we making?”

Cas holds out a spoonful of what Dean’s pretty sure is stir-fry, though Cas gives it a dubious look.

“It’s okay if it’s all brown,” Dean assures him. “Just means you put the vegetables in a little early.”

He takes the bite, chewing with a thumbs up.

“Shtill goov.”

Cas looks pleased, and flicks off the stove.

They eat, Dean telling him about his day — Cas gives the table this demure little glance when Dean notes that the vigilante hasn’t been active in over a week — and determines that Cas went out with Missouri. After some work on Dean’s part, he even deduces that she’s thinking about getting a cat.

Cas looks faintly wistful once his message finally gets across, and Dean ignores the impulse to start strategizing on how to make that happen. He can think about it if Cas ends up staying.

“So, uh. About what we talked about this morning.”

Cas stills, looking at Dean.

“So — so, uh. First things first. I still don’t think we should have sex,” he says bluntly, and Cas presses his lips together. “But it’s not because of you, or because I don’t want you. I do.”

Slightly mollified, though somewhat apprehensive, Cas waits for him to continue.

“I just think we should wait. For both our sakes.”

He looks like he wants to protest, so Dean hurries on.

“Because some decisions take time, you know? Sort of — sort of like we talked about before.”

The objection turns to unease.

“But sex and the relationship are separate. Even if, uh, for example, I decided I wanted to be with you forever by the end of the month—” Cas gives him a sharp look, at that, and Dean determinedly maintains a bland, just-a-random-thought expression, “—we’d still have, you know, forever, to decide on the sex part. You know?”

Cas nods slowly.

“And if we never did — you know I’d be okay with that, right? If I decide I wanna be with you, it’s because of all the other stuff we do. So — so we could never have sex, ever, and it wouldn’t affect whether I wanted you or not. Okay?”

Cas nods again, though where Dean’s expecting him to look reassured, all he can find is faint disappointment.

“As far as deciding that — I really think, for us, we should think about it some more. A lot more. Which — a lot of people do. A lot of people wait, on the sex thing, because it — it’s a big deal, for them. Because sometimes decisions have — well, consequences. And people like to make sure they’re good with them, without . . . you know, without feeling pressure.”

And yeah, that’s definitely disappointment, though for the life of him, Dean can’t understand why.

“So . . . are you good with that? For now?”

Cas nods, looking extremely troubled, and Dean stands.

He hesitates before taking Cas’s plate, leaning in slowly, in case Cas really is upset and kisses will be more nuisance than comfort.

But Cas turns into it easily, one hand reaching up to grip Dean’s shirt, and Dean decides that means they’ll probably be okay.

Anyway, Cas stops trying to seduce him, though Dean swears he gets clingier at night, and a week after they’ve been home, the police department starts getting delivery again.

Dean and Jo don’t try as hard as they probably should to solve the case.

Of course, Jody eventually summons him to her office again.

“Detective Winchester,” she says, all business, and Dean gulps.

“Hey, Chief. How, uh, how’s it going?” Hopefully she won’t ask about the doctor or the signing classes or, you know, why Dean canceled all of them.

“Me? I’m well. How about you?”

“Oh, you know, I’m . . . good.”

She nods.

“Jo told me you’re dating Cas,” and yeah, Dean doesn’t deceive himself this is a social meeting.

“Didn’t know you gossiped, Chief,” he jokes, and she arches a brow.

“Well, Dean, I’m not sure _you_ would have told me.”

“It — it’s not against the rules,” he says quickly, and the other brow goes up.

“So we’re just worried about the rules, now?”

“I mean — it’s not _wrong,_ ” he amends. “We went over this. Cas is — you know. He’s good. He knows what he’s about.”

Unfortunately, Dean can’t exactly explain to Jody _why_ he feels this way, since the unicorn story is almost as farfetched as the idea that a species of _angel_ would pick _Dean_ to bond with.

“And yet he can’t tell us who he is,” she points out, and that would absolutely be a fair point, but—

“It’s not because he doesn’t know.”

“Clear cut abuse or not, Dean, it almost looks like he came from some kind of _cult._ ”

“Well, if he did, he’s free now.”

“And he has no identity,” she presses, which — fine, even if Cas stays, they’re going to have to jump that hurdle.

“Okay, then let’s get him one.”

“Dean.”

“ _Jody._ ”

“Really? Have you even been trying to find out more, or are you just — playing house?”

He makes a face.

“Look, I’m just saying. He hasn’t done anything wrong, and wherever he comes from — he deserves a fair shake.”

“What if he’s lying to you?”

“He’s not.”

Jody’s not impressed.

“I will . . . look into it, Dean, if only because we don’t have a lot of options, where he’s concerned. But as your boss, and as your friend — be careful with that heart of yours, alright? It can make you kind of stupid, sometimes.”

“Does not,” he mutters.

She sighs.

“Any clues at all, Dean. If we could just be sure.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll — ask him again. We can see.”

“Please do,” she says. “And you look out for him, too, alright? I know you’d never take advantage knowingly, but the situation you’ve got there—”

He waves a hand, sullen.

“Yeah. I got it. I will.”

Dean’s still kind of moody when he gets back home, the kind of moody where he takes the hug Cas offers and runs with it, clutching him tightly while Cas soothingly rubs his back.

He doesn’t let go for several minutes, and when he does, Cas squeezes his arms, looking expectant.

“Jody gave me grief about you,” he admits, and Cas’s brow dips. “She’s worried, since we don’t know who you are, that I’m just — taking advantage.”

Cas just looks more confused.

“Look — from her perspective, I — I took you in, and you can’t talk, and I keep you in my apartment all day, waitin’ for me to come home, and now we’re dating, and it just — it looks kind of bad. Like I’m forcing you to stay here, or something.”

Upset creases Cas’s features, and Dean shrugs.

“But I’m not, right? You — you, uh. You chose me?”

Cas nods, earnest, clasping one of Dean’s hands between his own, and Dean feels a burst of warmth and reassurance he’s not even going to try to pretend is coincidence.

He huffs a laugh.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, using his free hand to rub his eyes. “’Course, she’s also worried you’re lying and taking advantage of _me._ ”

The grip on his hand falls away, and when he looks back at Cas—

Cas looks guilty.

“Hey.” Dean flicks his cheek, catching his eye and smiling. “You’re not. Even if you were lying to me — you’re not taking advantage. ‘Cause I still know you, right? And I like you. It’s as simple as that.”

And it is. Maybe it shouldn’t be, and maybe it won’t be enough, when the time comes — but for now, that’s how it is, and Dean’s good with that.

Cas is the one who demands a hug this time, and Dean is good with that, too.

Later that night, Sam calls.

“Hey, Sammy, what’s up?”

Cas perks up, smiling, and lifts a hand.

“Cas says ‘hi,’ by the way.”

There’s a brief pause.

“Tell him I said ‘hi,’ back,” Sam offers, though he sounds a little tense.

“Sam says ‘hi,’ Cas,” Dean announces, and Cas gives an awkward thumbs up before he stands, gesturing to the balcony door. Dean nods, and Cas slips out. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s just—” Sam cuts off, and there’s another long pause.

“Sam?”

“Sorry. This — I’m about to sound kind of — crazy? And please feel free to tell me I am, because — well, that makes more sense and this is — this is probably _driving_ me crazy, but—”

“Sam,” Dean interrupts, alarmed, and his brother takes a deep breath.

“You remember you were telling me about your vigilante? How he dressed up kind of like a — like a unicorn?”

Unease trickles in.

“Yeah?”

“Like — with a glowing horn?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

“Well. Well, I — I met up with some school friends a few nights ago, and — one of the girls said she’d gotten attacked walking back to her car from a concert.”

“Shit, that’s awful, is she—”

“She’s fine. Some guy saved her, beat the tar out of the dude, and she filed a police report, but—”

Dean closes his eyes, pretty sure he knows where this is going, because of course Cas wouldn’t just take a vacation from helping people, and Dean feels like a moron for thinking otherwise.

“But what?”

“She says the guy who saved her — he, um. He had a glowing horn. I mean, she was pretty drunk by then, and I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, if you guys didn’t have that case over there, but — and it was weird, because she said he — he touched her forehead. And it was like he telepathically communicated with her, told her to call the cops. And . . . he asked her not to mention the, uh. The horn and stuff. Just to say he was a guy. Except — he didn’t do it with words. It was just — a really strong feeling, somehow.”

Dean swallows.

“Wow. That’s . . . that’s pretty fucking weird.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and — see, Jo was telling me how while you were gone, there was just — nothing. And — god, I know this is kind of — but Cas did that thing, when we met and before he left, where he held my hands and I just — I felt — and he was _there,_ that first night, in the warehouse, and — do you think it’s possible . . .”

Dean remains silent, not sure what to say, if he should confide in Sam or go with ‘yeah, sorry, you’re nuts,’ because what are the fucking _odds_ Sam would put all that together in conjunction with Cas?

Of course, glowing horns are kind of distinctive.

“You sure she didn’t just read about our shit in the paper and get confused?”

It’s the wrong thing to say, apparently; Sam sucks in a breath.

“Oh, my god. Shit, Dean, I thought you’d — _shit._ Cas is — how does he _do_ it? And _you —_ you’re _okay_ with it? Even though — Dean, you’re _working_ this case, and—”

Sam is pretty much having a meltdown, and honestly, Dean’s not too far behind. He hastens to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

“You _cannot_ tell Jo,” he says, and while maybe he should be trying harder to convince his brother that no, Cas is not a glowing vigilante, he hates lying to Sam and maybe it’s just as well.

“Well, no, Cas could go to _prison,_ and maybe he should, but honestly, I don’t know about that.”

“Well, good, ‘cause he ain’t goin’ to prison. Not on my watch.”

Sam is quiet a moment.

“Wow. That’s . . . wow. I didn’t even notice him leave the apartment.”

Dean’s confused for about three seconds before he realizes Sam just knows Cas is the vigilante, not that he’s—

“He’s a unicorn,” Dean blurts out, because there wasn’t a damn thing in the book about _him_ telling.

“Speaking of which, why a _unicorn_? Did you ask him?”

“What? No, he doesn’t know, and — Sam, I mean he’s a literal _unicorn._ ”

“Like . . . you mean he’s special to you? One-of-a-kind?” Sam asks hopefully, and Dean snorts.

“That, too, but — he _actually_ glows _._ That’s not a costume. That’s his half-form, or whatever, because unicorns are actually _angels,_ and he can’t talk until I accept some weird soulbond thing with him, which — it’s a huge fucking deal, and apparently it sucks for him if I break it, but the stupid book didn’t say what would happen to me when _he_ did, and did you know if we fuck, he loses his powers? Which should make it a no-brainer, of course we won’t, but he keeps _trying_ Sam, and I don’t even know if I’m ready for a soulbond, whatever that is, and—“

“Wait, seriously?”

Dean scowls.

“To which?”

“He seriously loses his powers if you guys . . . do it?”

“ _Yes_ , Sammy.”

“That’s _bizarre_.”

“Is it? I mean . . . unicorns. Virgins.”

“Uh, my friend definitely wasn’t a virgin—”

“He’s a protector of righteous maidens, bitch.”

“So virginity doesn’t matter for them but it does for him? That doesn’t sound right.”

And yeah, now that Sam mentions it, the broad definition of purity for the women under his protection seems like an odd double standard, but Dean didn’t make the rules and that’s one he’s not willing to test.

“Well, that’s how it is.”

“He told you that? And he wants to sleep with you _anyway_?”

Dean’s not even insulted by the incredulity in his brother’s tone, and he completely agrees.

“That’s what _I_ thought! And — and no, he doesn’t know I know he’s a unicorn, ‘cause he’s actually not allowed to talk to me — it’s part of proving we’re a good match, or something — but I found a book.”

“Wait, you’re getting all this from a _book_ and you believe it?”

“Hey, it was right about all the things I _did_ know.”

“Yeah, but still—”

“And nothing else I looked up talked about this kind of unicorn.”

“Okay,” Sam says, but he sounds doubtful.

Whatever. Dean’s got a strategy, here, and he’s sticking to it.

“So. Yeah. In a little less than three weeks, it’s — it’s sink or swim. And shit, man, I’m leaning toward _swim,_ because Cas is — he’s — you know, he’s _Cas._ But that’s crazy.”

“Well, he’s a unicorn — an angel? — and that’s pretty crazy, too. I wouldn’t even believe it if not for the . . . telepathy thing.”

“Yeah. And — like, apparently he has invisible wings. It’s how he gets around like that.”

“Wow. That’s — wow. God, I wish I could ask him _questions_ —”

“Lucky for him, you can’t.”

He can practically hear Sam roll his eyes.

“Like you’re not curious.”

“I mean, yeah? But I’ve got bigger fish to fry, Sammy. Apparently, it hurts him, if I break the bond later — like, in a major way — but the book said nothing about what’ll happen to me when _he_ breaks it.”

Sam goes quiet.

“You make it sound like it’s inevitable.”

“Dude. Come on. Cas is throwin’ it away on the first pretty face he met, basically; of course he’s gonna change his mind.”

“You really think that?”

“I know it. And maybe that means I should say no, but — if I reject it, he gets like — allergic to me. He’ll go away forever. And I don’t — I don’t want that.”

“No, of course not.”

“Right? But the other thing is — big. And scary. And I’m not sure I want it either. At least, not this soon.”

There’s a long, sympathetic silence, and then:

“How do you even _get_ into these situations—”

“Good night, Sammy,” Dean says, and hangs up.

So they keep snuggling, and going on dates, and generally burying themselves in what Dean is vaguely terrified amounts to domestic bliss. Cas still hunts down creeps, and Dean still avoids meeting Jody’s eyes at the station, and Sam calls periodically with questions Dean rarely knows the answers to, after which he asks him if he’s decided yet.

Dean always says no.

As the deadline draws nearer, though, Dean starts to doubt that ‘no’. Maybe he hasn’t fully embraced a ‘yes,’ isn’t ready to commit the ‘sincere gesture of true love’ the book talked about — which, no wonder most attempts fail; if not for the book, Dean would have no fucking clue what was even happening here — but he realizes, coming home to Cas in pajamas and the zoo sweatshirt, dipping chunks of toast into the jar of peanut butter like it’s fucking chip dip, that at some point, he stopped considering rejection as an option.

Which is ridiculous. ‘Not accepting’ is the same goddamn thing, but in Dean’s head, there’s a big difference, and rejection feels beyond him, now.

So, yeah. Maybe ‘I haven’t decided yet’ isn’t totally true.

It doesn’t help that Cas seems to be getting more and more anxious as the days go by. Dean takes longer to fall asleep most nights, Cas clinging to him, and he’s starting to wonder if wake-to-sleep time might correlate to how long Cas needs him awake to cuddle.

(Which — take that, Jo. Cas is almost _definitely_ angel-roofie-ing Dean to sleep.)

The rest of the time, Cas hovers as much as possible, subjecting Dean to a lot of sad, longing looks that make him want to go out and buy a fucking ring, just to make it stop.

Except what does marriage mean, anymore? Does proposing to Cas even count as his sincere gesture of true love, when the rest of the world has rendered the meaningfulness of the gesture kind of debatable? Or does it count, so long as that’s how _Dean_ means it?

And even if it does, does Dean even _want_ that to be his gesture? Because honestly, it sounds pretty fucking lame, and if this is the big, profound symbol of their . . . soul union, then damn it, Dean wants to give Cas something _awesome_.

Assuming he says yes, of course.

It goes on like that, Cas’s clear anxiety making Dean just as anxious, in turn, until they hit the ten-day mark.

Dean drives half-an-hour to take Cas to a drive-in, and they spend two movies crammed together on the bench seat, occasionally making out but mostly just clinging to one another. He thinks a pair of teenage girls point at them and giggle on their way to the concessions stand, but he can’t even bring himself to be indignant, because _ten days._

Cas could be gone in ten days.

Dean, pathetic as he is, holds him tighter.

When they get home, though, Cas leads him straight from the door to the bedroom, fixing Dean with pleading eyes, and starts to undress.

And even though Dean wants nothing more than to let him, to show him all the things he’s too inept or too cowardly to find words for, Dean stops him, grasping his hands to still them and tugging Cas into his arms.

“It’s too soon,” he whispers, and Cas tenses, shaking his head and pulling away. “It is. You know it is.”

Cas looks at him like he knows no such thing, bitter and frustrated and sad — but at least this time, he doesn’t leave.

***

Dean’s just gotten home from work the next day, eager to head upstairs and spend some time with Cas, when Michael calls out to him.

“Dean! Hey, perfect timing. You mind helping carry this up?”

Dean tries not to grimace when he sees the bookcase poking out of Michael’s SUV.

“Uh. Yeah, sure, I can do that.”

And while he’d love nothing more than to tell Michael to call a friend, Dean’s here and capable and it feels a little too rude to say no, even if Michael does creep him out. There’s no way he’s getting that bookcase up on his own, and while technically, he should have thought of that his goddamn self, Dean knows how much of a pain it’ll be to get someone to come over and help.

Anyway, Dean’s a cop, and that means he helps people, even if those people look at him a little too long in the elevator.

Maneuvering the bookcase out and into said elevator isn’t too awful, and it’s less than ten minutes before they're upstairs and easing it against Michael’s living room wall.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, then smiles at Dean, oddly thoughtful. “Thanks, man, I owe you. You want something to drink?”

‘Uh. Thanks, but I’m good. Should probably get going.”

“Just a beer,” Michael insists, heading to the kitchen. “It’d be nice to catch up.”

Dean suppresses a groan. He and Michael don’t keep up with each other — a deliberate move on Dean’s part — and they really, _really_ don’t need to ‘catch up.’

“Sure. But just one,” he says, resigned, and plunks down on the sofa, listening to Michael crack the tops off. A moment later, he reappears, handing Dean his.

“Cheers,” he says, and Dean musters a half-smile before he downs the first few gulps.

The faster he drinks it, the faster he can get out of there, after all.

It’s not until he’s nearing the end that he realizes his mistake, Michael’s boring recounting of some stupid office story beginning to muddle in his ears as Dean blinks suddenly blurred vision.

“Son of a bitch,” he murmurs, and Michael gives him a concerned look.

“Are you sick?” he asks, mild, and rushes over, even as Dean struggles to his feet.

“You—“ Dean starts, meaning to follow up with ‘fucking asshole,’ but he’s fading fast and the words won’t form.

“You look a little unsteady,” Michael continues. “Hey, why don’t you lie down for a bit?”

And that — Dean tries to form a fist, tries to swing, but he barely manages to lift his arm a little, and he doesn’t even get close to punching the bastard in his stupid, creepy fucking face.

No, Michael just catches his arm, looping it around his neck and starts dragging Dean along.

Shame burns at him. He’s a fucking cop, and even if he wasn’t, he _knows_ better. Dad taught him back in middle school, to watch out for this kind of shit.

But — even if Michael’s gross and annoying, he’s a _neighbor,_ and he knows Dean’s a cop, and it honestly didn’t occur to Dean that he’d ever try anything Dean couldn’t firmly say ‘no thanks’ to.

The hallway spins around them, Dean’s thoughts blurring, and for fuck’s sake, this is it. Yeah, he’ll call Jo and take himself down to the station to file a report — Michael’s a fucking moron if he thinks Dean’ll be too _embarrassed_ — but it won’t change what’s about to happen here.

He has a thought, as his back hits the bed, that it’d be really fucking nice if ‘semi-righteous dumbass’ prayers worked on Cas, too.

God. Cas is gonna be _pissed,_ he thinks, and then promptly passes out.

“Dean?”

The lights are way too bright, but Dean forces his eyes open more, anyway, taking in Jo’s worried face with no small amount of confusion.

And then it all hits him.

“God fucking _damn it,_ ” he groans, shutting his eyes again. “Fuck. _Fuck._ Motherfucking _fuck._ ”

“Dean—”

“You — swabbed everything, right?” Dean asks, trying to stay professional, to pretend he didn’t walk right into a fucking setup; that he’s fully internalized everything he’s ever told a victim. _It’s not your fault and it’s nothing to be ashamed of._

It totally feels like his fault, and yeah, that’s definitely shame he’s feeling.

Jo grips his arm.

“You’re fine, Dean,” she barks, jaw tight. “Nothing happened.”

He blinks, staving off the relief, just in case.

***

“Nothing happened?”

“Nothing happened,” she repeats, and Dean slumps into the pillows, absolutely not tempted to sob with relief.

“Jesus, then he’s even weirder than I thought,” he jokes, but Jo doesn’t laugh.

“Michael’s in another room,” she says instead, and Dean’s morbid relief-amusement fades.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“What, uh, what happened to him? ‘Cause unless you’re about to tell me I hulked out—”

“Cas. Cas happened to him. Beat him bloody.”

Dean swallows.

“He’s not in trouble, is he?”

“Probably not,” she hedges, searching his face. “Not for this, anyway.”

Just like that, Dean’s fear returns in force.

He struggles to keep his expression neutral.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She’s silent for a long moment.

“How is he doing it?” she finally asks.

“Doing . . . what?”

“Dean, I’m not stupid. I’ve considered this countless times over the last few months — especially after everything stopped when you took your stupid trip—”

Dean just barely catches himself from pointing out that it stopped for longer than his trip.

“And I always dismissed it, because really? _Cas_? Except after that . . . yeah. Really. Cas.”

“Cas, as in . . . you’re seriously suggesting he’s—”

“You’re not stupid, either,” she says quietly, and no, he’s not, but _she_ might be, if she thinks he’s going to give Cas up that easily.

Eventually, she sighs.

“I’m not — I didn’t tell Jody.”

“Tell Jody what?”

“I was first on the scene. Missouri called it in, actually. Said she heard a bang, peeked into the hall and saw Michael’s door kicked in. I knew it was your building, and I wasn’t far, so I went, and I — I saw him.” She gestures vaguely at her forehead. “Weirdest fucking thing. And then he just — morphed out of it.”

Dean stays silent.

“Look,” she says lowly, leaning forward. “We talked about this. As long as he’s not dropping bodies every night — he’s doing a good thing. A thing the law either can’t or won’t, most of the time. I’m not about to shut that down for a rulebook.”

Which sounds nice and all, but for all Dean knows, this is a trap. That rulebook is one they swear by, and even if Dean’s committed to turning a blind eye, since Cas is a fucking _angel_ —

Who’s to say Jo’s loyalties don’t lie with the law? Where they’re _supposed_ to?

Jo slouches back against the visitor chair, tired.

“What is he, anyway? I know what I saw, and that — it wasn’t normal. Fuck, even if I _did_ arrest him — how would we even prove it? Because forensics still doesn’t know how he melted those guys’ insides, and after tonight, I’m pretty sure they’re never gonna find out.”

And that, finally, reassures him.

Even if Jo tattles, she’ll just look crazy, and they can’t really prove anything. Not beyond all reasonable doubt, anyway.

“Honestly?” He hesitates. “A unicorn.”

“A fucking what—”

“Well, technically an angel.”

“Oh, hell, no,” she snaps. “That’s — you don’t seriously believe that? Did he tell you that? Can he actually _talk_?”

“No, and no. I found a book, and since it fit with the other stuff, stuff that’s not like anything _I’ve_ ever heard about unicorns — I figured it was legit.”

“You’re trusting a _book_? About a legend?”

“It’s really specific,” he defends. “Right down to the glowing horns and the smiting — the melty insides and the smoking eyes, I mean. What are the odds it’s wrong about everything else?”

“Pretty fuckin’ high?” she offers, and Dean sighs.

“Point is, it’s got me this far, so take it or leave it.”

“Jesus.” She shakes her head. “ _Jesus._ An angel unicorn.”

“Angelcorn,” he supplies, and she makes a face.

“Uh, _no._ But God. What a wild world we live in.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No, _you_ tell me about it, you ass. I can’t believe you’ve been lying to me for this long.”

“Really? And if I told you a unicorn had moved in with me, you would have believed it?”

She hesitates.

“Fine. But I believe it now, so — details, man. Go.”

Reluctantly, Dean does.

Jody brings Cas to see him as soon as he’s released, and everyone politely averts their gazes as Cas practically collapses on top of Dean and starts crying.

Startled, Dean puts his arms around him, awkwardly patting his back.

“Hey. Dude, I’m okay. Wouldn’t have died either way, probably, but — you saved me. Which — thank you, by the way. I feel like a fuckin’ idiot, but thank you.”

Cas just burrows closer.

“Why don’t we give them a minute,” Jody says kindly, nodding to Jo, and the pair of them leave.

Cas needs more than a minute to compose himself, but Dean doesn’t exactly have anywhere else to be.

“How’d you know I needed you?” Dean asks eventually, and the little tremors running through Cas cease.

Dean doesn’t really expect an answer, and Cas doesn’t give one, not really.

But he does turn his head up, palm moving to cradle Dean’s cheek, and kisses him.

And maybe he’s still shaken up by a bad near-miss, but Dean finds the idea that he can pray to Cas for help more than a little reassuring.

Dean stays overnight at Jody’s insistence, but the drugs have long since left his system (Dean suspects that was the idea), and by the time he and Cas get home, he feels fine. Like he’s coming back from the longest work day ever, maybe, but — fine.

Cas, of course, disagrees on this point, despite Dean’s insistence. If Dean thought he was starting to hover before their stupid neighbor escalated from gross to crazy, Cas refuses to go more than a few _feet_ from his side now.

“You’re not watching me take a piss,” Dean warns him before he ducks into the bathroom and shuts the door.

It immediately reopens, and Dean ends up glaring at the wall over the toilet while Cas stands guard.

“You’re being fuckin’ creepy, you know that?” he says, jerking his zipper up with a huff. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me in here.”

Cas just arches his brow and gets the handtowel ready.

Of course, Dean doesn’t even get a chance to try and cook dinner; Cas manhandles him onto the sofa, tucks two goddamn blankets around him, and then dons the apron like he’s heading into war.

“I’m _fine,_ you dick!” Dean calls, fumbling to get his arms free of the blankets. “Seriously. You rescued my dumb ass, and it wouldn’t have killed me, anyway. I don’t — I don’t need to be _coddled._ ”

In the kitchen, Cas pauses, narrowing his eyes, and Dean sits up a little straighter, fully prepared to fight about it.

But then Cas abruptly turns, calmly grabbing a beer from the fridge and bringing it over to Dean.

And then he gently pats Dean on the head and goes back into the kitchen.

Dean fully expects to be swaddled to death in bedding and put to sleep by ten, but come bedtime, Cas supervises his settling in with minimal interference.

And then, to Dean’s immense surprise, he starts kissing him.

Which — at this point, he and Cas trade good-night kisses all the time, even make out a little some nights, but it’s generally a relaxed, casual affair.

This — what Cas is doing now — is not.

“Cas,” Dean mumbles, gently pushing at his chest. “Cas, come on. We just talked about this.”

Cas keeps kissing him, insistent, trying to shift Dean’s hands onto his hips.

“Cas.” Cas’s grip tightens, sliding Dean’s hands underneath his shirt, and Dean jerks away. “ _Cas._ ”

And Cas does let go, only to roll away, curling up on the other side of the bed, and Dean’s hit with a double-wave of guilt and frustration.

“I don’t understand,” he tries. “I don’t get why this is so important to you. I — I keep telling you it’s not a good idea, and you just — you don’t listen.”

Cas sits up, half-turning, the line of his mouth visibly bitter even in profile.

“We don’t need to do this,” Dean says, because Cas doesn’t seem to get it, and Cas clenches his fists.

Then he turns fully, reaching out and taking Dean’s hand. He pulls it toward him, guiding it to rest over his heart, and fixes Dean with wide, imploring eyes.

Beneath his palm, Dean can feel the rapid, anxious rhythm.

“You seriously want to,” he says, searching. “Even though — you know it doesn’t matter, you can decide _later_ — you want to now.”

Cas nods, and after a tense silence, lets Dean’s hand fall.

He looks at Dean, pained and curious, and gestures to him.

“What?”

Cas lifts his shoulders, gesturing again.

“Are you — are you asking if I’m willing?”

Cas shakes his head, solemn.

“Are you asking if I _want_ to?”

He nods.

And Dean’s actually pretty sure, here, that if he tells Cas he _doesn’t_ want to, this will be the last he hears of it. He made that mistake last time, and he doesn’t think for a moment that Cas has forgotten that, that Dean said he _did_ want to, even if he thought they should wait.

And he wonders if maybe he should. If he should tell Cas that’s off the table for good, because no matter what Cas _thinks_ he wants, this is a mistake, and recognizing the magnitude of that mistake is as good as not wanting to, isn’t it? It’s Dean’s choice, too, after all, and he doesn’t want to be part of Cas making a bad one, especially before this thing they’ve got is even off the ground.

“No,” he finally says, looking down. “No, I don’t.”

The silence from Cas, at that, is different from the usual ones. It’s the kind of silence Dean knows, instinctively, would be happening right now whether Cas could talk or not.

Slowly, Cas lies back down, turned away from Dean, and curls around his pillow.

“I — Cas, I’m sorry,” he tries, and Cas flinches.

He still doesn’t turn around.

“It’s gonna be okay. I promise you, it will.”

There’s no movement this time, so Dean reaches out, touching his shoulder.

Cas immediately jerks away.

Feeling a little sick, Dean withdraws back to his side — not that they usually bother about things like _sides —_ and decides to just let Cas have his space.

As it turns out, letting Cas have his space makes it surprisingly difficult to fall asleep.

In the morning, Cas still needs his space.

At least, that’s the best guess Dean has for the fact that Cas doesn’t even look at him the next morning. He’s already eating cereal when Dean comes out, a clear ‘no thank you’ to sharing breakfast, and when it’s time for Dean to leave for work, he briefly lifts a hand without looking away from the TV.

And that — it would piss Dean off, if there was anything bitchy about it, if he thought Cas was sulking over the sex thing and trying to make a point with it all — but it’s not.

No, Cas just seems _tired,_ and vaguely sad.

He’s out on the balcony again, when Dean gets home for work, and he doesn’t come back in until dinner’s ready. Even then, he pushes his food around with dull eyes, offering disinterested nods and shrugs in response to all of Dean’s efforts at conversation.

“Hey. Hey, I know — last night, that was . . . I know it’s not what you wanted, but — we’re okay, right? That — it doesn’t change all the other things, you know?”

Cas just looks at him for a long, blank moment.

Then he nods, and gets up to put his dish in the sink.

When they get into bed, he doesn’t touch Dean at all.

“Is Cas okay?” Jo asks, three days later. They have less than a week to go, and Cas is still behaving like a sad ghost, drifting listlessly around the apartment and half-ignoring Dean in a way that’s so far from being passive aggressive Dean kind of wants to cry himself.

He startles, glancing around.

“What? Why would you ask that?”

“Because last night’s delivery was a little singed around the forehead, if you catch my drift.”

Dean pales.

“He killed someone? No one told me that.”

Last resort reasoning is one thing, but if this is how Cas vents his anger—

“No, but it looked like he thought about it. Guy’s in pretty sorry shape, though he’ll be fine.” She smirks, darkly satisfied. “The important thing is he’ll be able to stand trial.”

He relaxes a little.

“Oh. Good.”

She raises her brows.

“So? You know anything about the tantrum?”

Dean hesitates.

“Really? You think Cas is the _tantrum_ type?”

Jo arches a brow.

“I don’t know. Does he still make you wash his hair for him?”

“What? He doesn’t _make_ me—”

“He’s the tantrum type,” she concludes. “So what’s goin’ on at home, kiddo?”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Nothing.”

“Dude.”

“Jo, it’s _personal._ ”

She looks contemplative, and then her eyes go wide.

“Wait — is this still about the sex thing?”

He must pause a beat too long, because she gasps.

“You didn’t fuck him, did you? Oh, my _god._ ”

“I told you—”

Jo balls up a sheet of paper and throws it at him.

“And I told _you_ it’s his choice, dude! Seriously, he’s a motherfuckin’ angel, Dean. I think he can decide.”

Dean scowls.

“A ‘motherfuckin’ angel’ who loses all his powers right along with his virginity,” he snaps, and Jo freezes.

“Excuse me?”

“Like I said, I don’t have an STD. But I might as well, for how much it’ll hurt him.”

“Are you seriously telling me — unicorns lose their _power_ if they have sex?”

“Yep.”

“There’s something really fucked up about that.”

“No kidding.”

“As in, makes no fucking sense.”

“Well, doesn’t it?”

She stares.

“No? They’re attracted to us lowly humans, enough that sometimes they fall in love and seek out _bonds,_ and there’s a whole set of rules attached to it, like it’s all part of the design. And yet, if they act on that — they lose everything? What’s the fucking point?”

Dean shrugs, helpless.

“I don’t know. I didn’t make the rules. But — you get where I’m coming from here, right? We’ve known each other less than three months and he wants to give up his powers for _sex._ Don’t get me wrong, sex is awesome, but dollars to donuts smiting is better.”

Jo nods.

“And I one-hundred-fucking-percent agree with you, and highly recommend pointing that out to him.”

“ _Thank_ you.”

“But I stand by my original opinion.”

“What? What do you mean?”

She shrugs.

“It’s his choice, dickhead. Stop trying to make it for him. And again, if you really don’t feel like he’s qualified to do it, then — _what the fuck are you doing here at all_?”

Which sounds good, in theory, and Dean’s totally all about people making their own choices (that fight with Sam about going to California doesn’t count), but Jo’s missing the point, here.

“What if I don’t accept it? The bond. What then?”

She blinks.

“Do you think you won’t?”

He takes too long to answer, and she nods.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And yeah. Maybe, if he wants to fix things with Cas, if he wants Cas to stop worrying about the sex thing without having to worry about taking _choices_ away—

Maybe it’s time to start thinking about _gestures._

Dean’s four items into a really pathetic ‘romantic gestures’ list, the highlight of which is ‘get Cas a cat,’ when he arrives back to the apartment. The caution tape is still across Michael’s busted front door — Dean smirks a little at that, despite the sour feeling the reminder gives him; in addition to doing prison time, somebody’s _definitely_ losing their deposit — but Dean’s own door doesn’t open.

Of course, Cas hasn’t been there waiting like that since they had their last fight.

Bracing himself, Dean quietly unlocks the door and steps inside.

“I’m home,” he calls, a weak-ass bid for some kind of acknowledgment, then registers the sounds of the TV, Cas perched on the sofa in front of it.

“Hey, Cas,” he tries, but that dark head doesn’t turn, bowed low.

And then Dean hears a sniffle.

“Cas?”

Cas lifts an arm, clumsily batting at his face, and Dean rushes forward in alarm.

“Cas? You okay?”

At that, he hunches inward, turning away from Dean when Dean leans over the sofa back, and Dean searches for the remote, glancing up at the screen as he pauses it.

A red-haired mermaid’s face, frozen in distress, stares back at him.

“The Little Mermaid?” he echoes, incredulous. “Are you seriously crying over—”

Cas bolts upright and stalks to the balcony door, sliding it shut behind him without once showing Dean his face.

Of course, after a few seconds to actually _think_ about it, Dean feels like as much of an asshole as he is an idiot.

He follows Cas out without thinking.

“Cas,” he insists, shivering as the cool evening air hits him, and the figure at the railing tenses. “Cas, I — I wasn’t making fun of you.”

Cas doesn’t turn.

“He doesn’t marry her,” Dean blurts out. “Eric. He doesn’t marry that other girl. They — well, Ursula starts up a bunch of bullshit and it’s touch and go for a while, but Ariel gets her Prince. And she gets her voice back and keeps her legs and everything.”

There’s a long silence, and then Cas turns back to him, eyes red and wet and almost enough to make Dean want to fling himself off the balcony.

Tentatively, he approaches, though he’s not quite brave enough to try touching him.

“See, uh. Disney movies — they always have a happy ending. So I forgot, you know, that it’s kind of scary there for a while, ‘cause in real life — there’s no guarantee. But Ariel — the thing about Ariel is, she’s, uh. She’s really brave, and just, and she saved Prince Eric’s ass, and she loved him enough to go through all that trouble — of course he loves her back, you know? It’s just a no-brainer. And that — that’s after three _days,_ man. Imagine once he’s known her, say, three _months,_ gotten to know all the other awesome stuff about her the movie doesn’t even show us _—_ I think, anybody would be head over heels for somebody like that. There’s no question that he’d, uh. He’d wanna hang onto her.”

Cas just stares back, eyes searching, shoulders high as he clutches the railing.

“Okay?” Dean prompts, a little shaky. “So — don’t be sad, right now. It — it’s gonna happen. Trust me.”

Cas hesitates.

“Please,” Dean adds.

After a long, tense moment, Cas’s shoulders slump, grip on the railing easing off, and then he steps toward Dean, naked fear in his eyes.

Dean opens his arms, and Cas practically falls into them, breathing rough.

“I swear it’ll work out,” he whispers, tucking his face against Cas’s cheek. “I swear. You just have to trust me.”

Cas nods, and Dean decides that if he doesn’t have any better ideas by tomorrow, he’s taking Cas to the shelter and bringing home a goddamn cat.

Maybe they have a few more days, still, but Dean doesn’t want to make him wait any longer.

Dean polls the station the next day, but the most popular among the incredulous responses is ‘buy him a ring.”

“I guess,” he hedges. But the book didn’t _say_ anything about marriage, so even if Dean’s intent with it is sincere, true love — he and Cas are _soulbonding,_ supposedly. What if _Cas_ doesn’t care about a dumb ring? “But I think he’d like a cat better.”

“Aren’t you allergic?”

“There’s medication you can take.”

Jo and Benny seem to think this is actually a pretty good idea, but Victor is adamant that it’s not.

“If I’d gotten either of my ex-wives a fuckin’ cat instead of a ring, I wouldn’t be paying alimony right now.”

“I’d rather have a cat than a ring,” Jo points out, and after a pause for consideration, Benny and Ash both agree.

“Unless it’s one of those wrinkly, naked ones,” Ash adds with a shudder. “Got high at a friend’s house once, who had a cat like that, and I thought it was Gollum comin’ to eat my face. Worst trip ever, man.”

“Cat in the hat did always give me the creeps,” Benny acknowledges. “Just make sure you get him a cute one, and you’ll be fine, brother. ‘Asides, you haven’t really known him long enough for the other thing.”

If Benny only _knew._

“Yeah. Yeah, but — isn’t there like, an in between?”

“You could take him on a romantic getaway,” Jo suggests.

It seems abstract enough that it probably won’t count — besides, Dean already used his vacation time to go see Sammy — and he opens his mouth to tell her so.

“To pound town,” she adds, and Victor chokes on his coffee.

“What the hell?”

“Jo,” Dean says, warning, and she rolls her eyes.

“I’m just saying—” she starts, then glances about at their confused audience. “God. Never mind. Just find him a cute little kitty cat and hope for the best, I guess.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, sinking back into his chair. Back to square one, then.

He has the horrifying thought, then, that Jo might be right — that maybe he _has_ to have sex with Cas to form the bond, because Ariel had to _kiss_ Prince Eric, didn’t she? — but he immediately dismisses it. The book didn’t say a damn thing about that, and he’s pretty sure it talked about post-bond conditions that included the unicorn still having its powers.

He rests his head against his desk, tired.

He really _does_ have trouble with cats. He certainly can’t remember dating anyone else he’d be willing to do this for.

Maybe it’ll work?

Cas is waiting for him, today.

Except not in a happy way. Nope, when the door swings open at seven o’ clock that night, Cas looks fucking _furious._

“Uh. Hey, buddy. What — what’s up?”

Did Missouri tell him about the cat? Does Cas know that’s his big plan, and that it definitely won’t work? Is he upset Dean’s throwing away their shot because he’s an uncreative dumbass?

Fuck, maybe he should pick up a ring as backup.

“I wasn’t set on the cat,” he says hastily, not thinking. “I can come up with something better.”

The anger briefly falters, turning confused, before Cas shakes his head and marches into the kitchen, snatching something off the counter.

When he turns back to Dean, blue eyes hard, he’s holding a book.

And not just any book, either. He’s holding _the_ book.

Dean’s stomach sinks.

“Where the hell did you find that?” he demands, a little panicked. He knows they’re not supposed to talk about the unicorn thing, but he doesn’t know if that’s a hard rule, or what the consequences for breaking it are.

And even though he’d have no idea what’s going on, otherwise, he hates the idea that he could lose Cas just because he didn’t hide the goddamn unicorn manual better.

Cas’s jaw tenses, lips thin.

And then his grip on the book tightens, and a split second later, it bursts into flames.

“Jesus — fucking _hell,_ Cas, you—”

Dean scrambles past him, searching out the metal wastebasket by the sofa and thrusting it towards him.

“Drop it,” he orders, and Cas calmly lets it fall into the bin, watching with unmistakable satisfaction as it burns. “Dude, are you fucking _insane_? You could have hurt yourself! Hell, you could have burned the complex down!”

The look Cas gives him at that makes it clear that was never a possibility, but Dean is just enough pissed off and shaken up to want to fight about it.

“What the fuck, man? Don’t give me that look. I get that you have all your super special unicorn powers and it’s no big deal to you, but as a powerless human person who _isn’t_ impervious to fucking flame, I don’t want you lighting goddamn fires in my goddamn house just because you’re having a fucking tantrum!”

Cas scoffs, turning around and heading for the balcony.

“Cas?” Dean calls, suddenly alarmed. “Cas, where are you going?”

Cas steps out, the curtain swishing shut behind him, and Dean starts after him.

“Cas? Cas, I didn’t mean to — like, lighting shit on fire is a really immature way to handle your feelings, but I get that you’re angry, so just come back inside and we’ll . . .”

Dean trails off as he pushes aside the curtain, and he realizes there’s no point in talking.

The balcony is empty.

By the time nine rolls around and Cas still isn’t back, Dean’s pretty much convinced he’s not _going_ to come back.

And while a part of him resents that, resents the fact that just because Dean had a cheat sheet and Cas found out about it before the deadline, Cas suddenly _changed his mind_ (and given the fact that Cas _left_ without so much as a fucking goodbye, Dean doesn’t kid himself that wasn’t what happened), mostly Dean’s just . . .

Really, really, _really fucking sad._

Because he was _ready._ Somewhere along the way he decided to _do_ this, to bind his soul to an angel he’s known a hot minute, because he just — he really _likes_ that angel. More than likes him , obviously, if he was willing to go that far, and he _was._

And he thought Cas wanted that, too, but apparently, Dean keeping secrets — even if it was basically the same goddamn secret _Cas_ was keeping — was enough to change that.

Which, sure, maybe Dean should feel a little better about that, maybe even feel like they’d _both_ dodged a bullet, because after all, even back when Dean found out, it didn’t occur to him to ice Cas out completely; the fact that Cas ran off over it suggests all Dean’s fears up to this point were justified.

But he doesn’t feel better. He didn’t want his fears to be justified. He didn’t want Cas to change his mind about him, not now and not later.

No, he wanted to take Cas out and get him a cat and live happily ever after or whatever, soul and grace entwined like Dean was the protagonist in some kind of cheesy supernatural romance.

(And he was really looking forward to having Cas _talk_ to him, in some way, because as much as that wasn’t a dealbreaker, as much as he would have been happy to go on the way they have been, if that was their only option, the book said Cas would have that. Cas would be able to tell Dean what he was thinking, _exactly,_ would be able to talk to Missouri and whoever the hell else he wanted to, make phone calls, or do whatever. Even if it turned out Cas’s voice was his hands and Dean needed the sign classes after all, he’d be able to fully _communicate,_ and Dean wanted that for him.)

But nope. Cas was already getting kind of fed up with him, and this was just the last straw, and even if it’s probably for the best, it doesn’t feel like it right now.

Right now, it feels like an _excellent_ excuse to get absolutely shitfaced and call in sick tomorrow so he can do it all over again.

He’s just made it to the liquor cabinet, debating whether or not to bother with a glass, when there’s a noise on the balcony. Dean nearly drops the bottle in his haste to turn, heart pounding, though it’s probably just a pigeon or something. There’s no reason to hope.

Still, he puts the bottle back in the cupboard, and then he turns around, bracing himself for disappointment.

And then the door slides open, and Cas—

Cas comes back in.

Because _Cas came back._

“I thought you left me,” Dean blurts out, sagging back against the counter, relief turning his bones to jello, and the faintly disgruntled look Cas is still wearing melts into surprise. “You son of a _bitch,_ I thought—”

Cas starts toward him, a little wide-eyed at whatever must be showing on Dean’s face, and Dean swallows.

“You’re not, right? You’re not — you didn’t come back just to say goodbye, did you?”

Cas shakes his head swiftly, striding right up to Dean and taking his face in his hands.

Dean is too on edge from the last couple of hours to be embarrassed about leaning into them.

“No? I didn’t ruin it? We didn’t — that didn’t break any rules, right? We’re okay?”

Cas nods, tilting his head up, and Dean meets him in the middle, carefully wrapping his arms around Cas and kissing him back like he still needs to convince him.

Cas lets him, smiting hands breathtakingly gentle in the way they caress over Dean’s face and hair, and Dean swears he feels a soft burst of calm slip through him with every pass, his nerves gradually settling.

“Are you doing that?” he mumbles, just barely pulling back. “Are you — soothing me, right now?”

Cas nods, looking a little worried.

“’S’okay. I appreciate it. You help me sleep, too, don’t you?”

Another nod.

“Thanks,” he whispers, and Cas sinks his fingers into Dean’s hair and kisses him again.

Dean’s not even surprised when things turn a different kind of desperate, Cas tugging him out of the kitchen and probably in the direction of the bedroom, and he _wants_ to, God does he want to, thinks there’s a selfish, nasty part of him that hopes a powerless Cas would be more likely to _stay —_ but he still pulls back before they get there, holding Cas away from him.

“Cas. I — I’m in, I swear I’m in, but I think you should wait to decide about this. As far as I know, you can’t take it back, and I don’t — I don’t want to be responsible for that.”

Anger seeps back into Cas’s expression before he closes his eyes, breathing in deep.

When he opens them again, he steps forward, pressing his mouth to Dean’s, and then turns, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt and pulling it up and off as he goes.

Dean follows numbly, unease smothering the lust and need.

“Cas, listen to me. I know what I’m talking about. Living with that kind of regret — even just having to wonder all the time, if it was the right choice — you don’t know what it’s like. It’s the kind of thing that drives some people crazy.” He takes a deep breath. “And it’s definitely the kind of thing that makes them — that ruins things like this. Breaks them beyond repair.”

Cas shows no signs of having heard him, hands moving with purpose as he strips down, shucking his jeans and tugging down his boxers.

Dean shuts his eyes and hangs back, gripping the door jamb like a piece of driftwood in a shipwreck.

“Cas. Let’s — let’s at least wait until we can talk about this.”

Of course, there’s no response, not one Dean can understand with his eyes closed, anyway, so he opens them.

Cas is waiting, unselfconscious where he’s spread out on the bed, an invitation Dean’s not sure he can refuse, and though his face is serious, the look he gives Dean is almost _kind._

_It’s okay,_ is what that look says, even though Dean is sure it’s not.

But isn’t this what Cas was angry about? Dean read up on the whole unicorn deal, and even though in some ways, that benefited Cas — at the end of the day, it meant Dean prevented him from making a choice. Cas didn’t think Dean knew any of that, didn’t _want_ him to know any of that; wanted Dean to love him without any influence, and wanted to be able to love Dean the way he wanted in return, without Dean trying to tell him how that should be.

And even if Dean maintains that this is a _bad_ choice — if he _didn’t_ know, there’s not a chance in hell he would turn Cas down, and it would have been entirely up to Cas.

The way, maybe, that it should be. Because if Dean really, honest-to-god loves Cas — and he thinks he might — maybe he needs to respect him enough not to try and control him.

Not to assume, somehow, that he knows what’s best for him.

And that’s a hard one; Dean’s an adult and he’s figured out, by now, that the way he loves people sometimes includes trying to interfere under the basis that he thinks he knows what’s best for them, and that it’s his job to make that happen — but in the end, he also knows he has to let them be.

Cas shouldn’t be any different.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, and Cas nods, holding out a hand, the very picture of calm welcome. “I don’t — I don’t want you to hate me.”

He shakes his head, beckoning, and Dean—

Dean goes.

&&&

He leaves the safety of the doorway, kicking the door shut behind him, and then he struggles out of his flannel and strips off his undershirt, conscious of Cas’s eyes on him all the while, and when he misses the laundry basket by two whole feet, he carefully pretends the irregular huffing sounds coming from the bed are an expression of wild, unadulterated lust, and not Cas laughing at him.

(Cas is definitely laughing at him.)

He’s smart enough to just leave his jeans and boxers on the floor when it comes to it, and by the time he’s turning around and scrambling onto the bed, Cas is quiet, watching him with interest, though Dean swears there’s still a twinkle somewhere in there.

He can’t help it; it makes him smile, and when Cas sucks in a breath, then slowly smiles back, Dean outright grins.

Just like that, they stare at each other, quiet seconds ticking by, something warm and giddy building inside of Dean as he looks at Cas and Cas looks back, smile gradually turning puzzled, until finally, Dean shakes his head, crawling over to him.

Cas immediately spreads his legs to make a space, and Dean settles between them with a grateful smile, lightly squeezing one knee.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “This is just — it’s a lot, man.”

Cas’s expression falls a little, at that, and Dean quickly reaches out, taking one of his hands.

“Hey, that’s not a bad thing. It’s good. I mean, I’m still kinda worried this is all gonna come back to bite me in the ass, and not in the fun way, but . . .” He takes a deep breath. “I’m glad I’m here. With you. That you, uh. That you chose me.”

Cas nods slowly, eyes still searching.

“That’s the part that’s a lot, though. That you _did_ choose me.” Dean clears his throat, glancing down to where their hands are joined. “I don’t — to be honest, man, I don’t really get it. But I — I’m gonna try my best, alright? So you — so you don’t regret it. I promise.”

The lingering worry in Cas’s eyes fades, expression softening, and Dean quickly leans down, pressing a feather-light kiss to his lips.

“For right now, though,” he whispers. “We’re here, and I think you had something you wanted to do besides listen to me make an ass of myself trying to talk about feelings.”

There’s a small sigh, soft against his mouth, and then Cas’s hand is reaching up, cupping the back of Dean’s head and tugging him down for another kiss. Dean goes easily, the tight feeling in his chest loosening as their lips fit against each other, sweet and familiar in the best of ways, and when the kiss turns a little less soft and the hand in Dean’s hair starts tugging, he forces himself to pull away.

Cas frowns at him, color in his cheeks, lips red and swollen from Dean’s kisses and hair hopelessly mussed from the pillows behind him, and Dean doesn’t bother fighting a grin at the sight.

“Okay, Cas,” he starts, breathless as he catches Cas’s gaze and holds it. His heart is tripping over itself between his ribs, more than happy to take each fall, and he can’t resist reaching out, settling his palms on Cas’s thighs, desperate for just a little bit more _touch_. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna pretend I’ve never read a single book in my entire goddamn life, and you’re just my super-fucking-awesome boyfriend, who sometimes happens to fly and smite bad guys and light shit on fire with his brain. And since it looks like, for whatever reason, you really like my dumb ass, I’m gonna finally man up and show you exactly how much _I_ really like your way, way smarter ass. And you’re gonna tell me how you want me to do that. Capisce?”

Cas licks his lips, nodding, though the smile stays in his eyes, warm and bright.

“Awesome.” Dean ducks his head to kiss him again, giving his thighs a squeeze. “Your move, sweetheart. How do you wanna do this?”

Cas hesitates, and Dean starts lightly stroking the soft skin beneath his palms, doing his best to soothe.

(He thinks he sees Cas’s cock twitch a little in response, though, and for both their sakes, pretends he didn’t.)

“You wanna know your options?”

Immediately, Cas brightens, and Dean grins down at him, still rubbing circles, thumbs sweeping in wide, careless arcs as they near Cas’s hips.

“Alright, Cas. Option one, you and I snuggle up and make out like we do all the other nights, except I get us nice and slick and jerk us off while we do it, and you wait to knock me out until we’re done.”

There’s a mildly sheepish look, at that, but Dean just winks.

“Option two,” he continues, hands stroking just a little bit higher, and Cas’s hips shift slightly when Dean’s fingertips very accidentally brush across them. “I suck you off. You understand?”

Cas doesn’t answer for a moment, eyes flicking distractedly to Dean’s hands, and Dean pauses.

“My mouth, Cas,” he elaborates, and then, very deliberately, brushes a thumb along Cas’s dick, the barest glide from root to tip. Cas inhales sharply, hips jerking up. “I put my mouth on your cock, and I use my lips and my tongue to make you come, and then maybe, if I did a good job, you let me look at you while I make myself come, too.”

He can see Cas swallow, blue eyes blinking rapidly as they settle somewhere in the vicinity of Dean’s mouth.

Still, he does nothing, and Dean gets the sense that he’s waiting for something in particular.

“And option three,” he murmurs, watching Cas carefully, pretty sure he knows what that something is. “We go all the way. You could be in me, or I could be in you.”

Cas’s eyes go dark, and slowly, he brings up a hand.

It’s holding up three fingers.

Dean huffs a laugh.

“Okay, Cas.” He curls forward, bracing himself against Cas’s thighs to kiss him, slow and deep, Cas’s fingers threading through his hair and holding on. “Later, you’re gonna tell me what the hell that was supposed to mean last time, alright?”

He can feel Cas’s smile against his lips, and he presses forward, tasting it once more before he pulls away.

“Alright, sweetheart. How do you want me?”

Cas studies him for a moment, considering, one hand lightly petting over Dean’s hair.

And then he shrugs.

Dean lets out a startled laugh.

“Don’t care, huh?”

He shakes his head, fingers still carding through the short strands at Dean’s temple, and Dean catches that hand in his own, turning his face to kiss its palm.

“Okay,” he whispers. “If you really don’t care . . .”

Another headshake, and Dean smiles.

“Then I sure as hell wouldn’t say no to being inside you.”

Cas just smiles back, hand shifting in Dean’s to lace their fingers together, and the faintly satisfied air to all of it sends a particular kind of thrill racing through Dean.

So he cups Cas’s face in both hands, those pretty, flushed cheeks soft and warm beneath his palms, and kisses him again.

“Need stuff from the drawer,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t let go, in no hurry to disrupt the sweet slide of their mouths against each other, especially not when Cas simply parts his lips on a sigh, an invitation he knows Dean can’t resist. This is blissfully familiar territory, in some ways, with echoes of many a late night spent lazily making out, but it’s utterly new in others; there’s that same slow, simmering heat, building steadily as they tangle together, but for once, it’s not to be ignored. For once, there are no rumpled pajamas or looming threats of depowerment caught between them; instead, there’s just skin, what feels like miles of it, smooth and warm where it brushes against Dean’s, and when Cas’s grip in his hair tightens, turns insistent, mouth moving over his with unmistakable urgency, Dean does nothing to discourage it.

Instead, he shifts, stretching out and settling onto his elbows, body pressing down, pressing flush against the one underneath it. Cas falters, breath hitching, and then he arches up and hooks a leg around Dean’s waist and suddenly, everything aligns _just so_ and Dean is way, way more interested in getting to the drawer.

“Lube and condoms,” he chokes out, helplessly grinding down, and Cas just rolls back up against him with a strangled gasp. “We can come right back to this, I swear to God, but I should get—“

Cas shoves him away with a huff, leg reluctantly unwinding from around him, and Dean hates the absence so much he practically lunges for the drawer, yanking it open and sifting through the chaos in search of supplies. It takes a small fucking eternity before he’s seizing the bottle of lube and fumbling a condom out of the box — it’s been a long dry spell, and stuff that doesn’t get used ends up in an incomprehensible pile at the back — but then he’s got them and Cas is impatiently tugging him back, already looking halfway to wrecked, and Dean just throws them down on the sheet before crawling back over him and settling right back where he belongs.

In an instant, Cas’s leg is wrapping back around him, the other following suit and pulling him down, hips slotting together, and Dean just goes with it. He catches him in a rough, haphazard kiss as they rut against each other, Cas’s thighs gripping his sides and his cock rapidly hardening where it rubs alongside Dean’s, a little too dry to quite be perfect but still enough that Dean is loathe to do anything different. Cas’s breaths are harsh in the space between them every time they pull apart for air, his hands clutching Dean’s shoulders and fingers digging in, and there’s a part of Dean that’s seriously tempted to get a little lube and just let this run its course.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t just want option one,” he mumbles, licking at Cas’s lips and grinding deliberately against him, but even though Cas shudders beneath him, frantically rocking into it, he’s quick to shake his head.

Three fingers lift off of Dean’s shoulder and then come back down, lightly tapping, and Dean draws in a ragged breath and forces himself to pull away.

“Okay,” he manages, reaching to the side and grasping for the lube. “Okay, Cas, option three it is.”

Cas just bites his lip and lies back, watching as Dean uncaps it and carefully coats his fingers. Dean swears to God there’s an unnatural light to the scant sliver of blue around his pupils,maybe a suspicious glow to his flushed, sweat-damp skin, and if Dean weren’t so preoccupied, he might ask about that.

But he is, and he doesn’t, and when he throws the bottle back down and Cas instinctively tries to spread his legs, ankles still locked at the small of Dean’s back, Dean forgets the question all together.

“Relax,” he says, tellingly hoarse, and lightly strokes the outside of one thigh with his clean hand, palm smoothing from hip to knee. “Gonna take care of you, Cas, I promise. Pinch me if it hurts or you want me to stop, alright?”

Cas nods, an almost wild look in his eyes as he stares up at Dean, and Dean takes a deep breath, heart thundering in his chest, loud enough in his own ears he wouldn’t be surprised if Cas could hear it from a foot away.

“Gonna touch you now,” Dean whispers, shifting onto one elbow and bringing his hand between them, hovering at Cas’s entrance. “Okay?”

Cas swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing visibly and fingers curling in the sheets beneath him, and then he nods.

He sucks in a breath at the first touch of Dean’s finger, and Dean counts several seconds before he finally seems to remember to let it out. Dean just keeps circling gently, slicking his rim, and after a moment, Cas’s hips twitch down, pressing back.

He catches Dean’s eye and nods.

So Dean leans down to kiss him, then shifts, mouthing softly along Cas’s jaw, and carefully begins to press inside.

Cas’s head falls back, hands returning to Dean’s shoulders, gripping tightly, and Dean slowly works his finger deeper, lips trailing down Cas’s throat as he does. He pauses where it meets the shoulder, where he knows the right combination of teeth and pressure can have Cas gasping and squirming underneath him in seconds, and instead of painstakingly avoiding the area, he seals his mouth over the hollow and sucks.

Cas’s whole body jerks underneath him, abruptly tightening around Dean’s finger, pulling it deeper as a stuttered gasp escapes his lips. Dean just keeps working at the mark, drawing his finger out and thrusting it back in, and by the time he’s satisfied, gently licking at the dark, purple bruise, Cas is panting, rocking down on his finger and digging his nails into Dean’s shoulders.

“Do you want more, Cas?” Dean murmurs, teeth grazing Cas’s collarbone, and Cas takes a deep breath, relaxing his hold and giving Dean a shaky nod.

Slowly, Dean slides a second finger in alongside the first, eyes on Cas’s face the whole time, watching for any sign of discomfort. Cas watches him right back, lids heavy, and when Dean works them in a little faster, pressing in deep, Cas licks his lips and sighs.

“Feel good?”

Cas nods, shifting underneath him, and Dean can feel it, feel the flex of muscle around the digits as Cas’s body tries to figure out what to do with them. So he twists, then, spreading his fingers just slightly, and Cas’s breaths falter, his back arching in surprise.

“Feels good to me, too,” Dean assures him, brushing their noses together. Cas quickly tilts his chin up, lips seeking Dean’s, and Dean kisses him, fingers gliding in and out, lightly stroking Cas’s walls as he stretches him, trying not to think too hard about the feel of Cas around him, rolling into every gentle thrust and clutching tightly like he still wants more; because if he thinks about that, about how good it _does_ feel, how good it’s _going_ to feel, once he’s ready for the more, Dean’s going to have trouble getting there at all.

So he kisses Cas harder to distract himself, licks inside his mouth and lets it turn as wet and filthy as they please, and when Cas’s legs start tightening around his waist, hips moving erratically as his body clenches around Dean’s fingers, trying to take them deeper, Dean quickens his pace, shoving them in deep and curling the tips as he ruthlessly presses down.

Cas tears his head away on a strangled gasp, burying his face in Dean’s throat as he goes rigid, and Dean does it again, thrusting hard. Cas gasps again, squirming, heels digging into Dean’s spine, and Dean slowly drags his fingers out, spread wide to maximize the friction.

“More?” he whispers, his own pulse frantic at the feel of it, of the quiet little huffs, warm against his neck, of the way Cas tries to rock up toward him, take them back, desperately chasing the sensation.

The nod is immediate, Cas’s fingers grasping tightly at his back, and Dean wastes no time uncurling a third finger and pushing back in. For a split second, Cas freezes, body tensing, and Dean immediately stills, quickly trying to disentangle himself to see Cas’s face, see where they’re at —

But then Cas lets out a long, ragged breath, and before Dean can even ask if he’s okay, Cas is nodding against his shoulder, hands tugging at his back and hips pushing up to draw him deeper, and Dean recognizes it for the request it is.

He thrusts his fingers the rest of the way in one smooth motion, and just like that, Cas opens for him.

“Oh, God, Cas,” he whispers, crooking them and pulling out, relishing in the whole-body shudder that follows. “You’re incredible.”

Cas just keeps nodding, keeps rocking his hips, fine tremors rippling through him as Dean works his fingers back inside and carefully draws them out again. He tries to go slow, give him time to adjust, despite Cas’s encouragement, but Cas starts mouthing at his neck, artlessly licking and biting as he arches up, trying to get closer, and Dean can’t help himself. He speeds up, fingers sinking into the tight, searing heat of Cas’s body while Cas clings and kisses him, and before long Cas is panting against his neck, one hand tangled in Dean’s hair and tugging wildly as he squirms and clenches around Dean’s fingers.

“I wondered how you’d be,” Dean mumbles, twisting and stretching his fingers as Cas eagerly fucks down onto them. He’s rougher than he wanted to be, rougher than he probably should, but he can tell it’s still not as much as Cas seems to want, and there’s no question of slowing down, not when Cas just takes it, body silently begging for more as it jerks and writhes beneath his. “I didn’t think it’d ever happen, but I thought about it anyway. If I’d get the Cas that beats the shit out of my skeevy neighbor, or the one that wraps me in his arms and puts me to sleep like a baby. If I’d get the one that makes me wash his hair, follows my hand like a damn kitten. The one who wants me to hold him, to touch his hair, to kiss him, clings to me like he’s starving for it.”

Cas shudders, and then he grips the back of Dean’s head and yanks him into a bruising kiss, desperate and clumsy. Dean lets him for a moment, and then he pulls back, grasping Cas’s chin and waiting for him to open his eyes.

“Know which one I wanted most?”

Cas shakes his head slightly. His eyes are almost black as they stare into Dean’s, dazed and hungry, and Dean licks his lips.

“Well, Cas,” he whispers. “The thing is, they’re all you, and they’re all perfect. The one I wanted most was whichever one wanted me.”

Cas inhales sharply.

And then he seizes Dean’s face between his hands and kisses him, hard and determined, and before Dean can even catch his breath, it hits him, wave after wave of heat and tension and pure, blinding _lust,_ crashing through his body and leaving him shaking, fingers frozen halfway out of Cas.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he hisses, molten, indescribable want still pouring through his veins, and Cas just nods, eyes half-shut as he squeezes Dean’s jaw and shimmies down, trying to get his fingers back, and jesus, Dean feels like he’s about to combust, burn up in Cas’s arms before he ever even gets inside him. “Stop, stop, I can’t, Cas, I _can’t_ —“

The sensation immediately recedes, leaving a dull, terrible throb in his groin, and Cas’s hands on his face soften, lightly petting, a small burst of calm the next thing to ripple through Dean.

Still, when his vision finally clears, tension settling, Dean recognizes the pointed cast to Cas's gaze.

“I take it that’s all of them?” he whispers, hoarse, and Cas’s lips quirk.

And then one hand leaves his face, reaching between them, and firmly grasps Dean’s cock.

Dean jerks into Cas’s fist with a moan, his cock so hard the contact almost _hurts._

“Fuck, fuck, okay,” he gasps, withdrawing his hand entirely and prompting a slight frown. “I think you’re ready, what about you?”

Cas lights the fuck up at that, more like Dean just told him Sam and five cats were moving in than like he’s about to get fucked, and when Dean turns, grappling for the lube bottle and the condom with shaking hands, it’s from laughter.

“Cas,” he wheezes out, breathless and grinning. “I don’t — I don’t know what it’s gonna be yet — my big gesture, I mean — but, uh. It’s gonna work. There’s no question about it, it’ll work _._ You understand?”

For a moment, it’s clear he doesn’t, head tilting curiously, brow creasing — but then Cas stills, expression going slack. He stares at Dean, eyes wide, and even though it’s awkward and Dean has always been shit at this part, he makes himself look back.

“It will,” he repeats softly. “I promise.”

Cas is silent as ever for a few seconds, barely breathing, but then he puts a hand on Dean’s arm and the next unexpected feeling to wash over him is an endless, breath-stealing warmth, sweet and bright like sunlight as it fills him, and suddenly, Dean’s vision blurs.

“Oh,” he says, trying to pretend the sting in his eyes is strictly due to the emotional staring contest. “Do you? I had no idea, man. I thought we were just roommates.”

Cas rolls his eyes, using his legs to tug Dean forward, and Dean catches himself on one hand, huffing a laugh.

“’S’okay, Cas, I know you like my jokes.”

At that, Cas tries to look stern and fails, especially since he’s wrapping his arms around Dean at the same time, tugging him close, and even though the angle’s weird and he meant to do this sitting up, Dean just kisses his cheek and shifts to one elbow, awkwardly tearing the foil packet open while Cas mouths at his jaw.

He’s uncooperative when Dean tries to sit up, needing fuller range of motion to get the condom on, and when he realizes _why_ Dean is pulling away, it’s clear he’s going to protest.

“Cas,” Dean says quickly, preempting him, although Cas still makes a grab for the the condom, leaving Dean to quickly hold it out of reach. “I’d love to have this conversation with you, I would, and I’d love for it to end with me fucking you bare and coming inside you — but right in the middle of things is not the time. Alright?”

Cas’s expression freezes, and then, weirdly, he looks even _more_ unhappy about it.

Still, he nods, even if he does it with gritted teeth, and once Dean’s rolled the condom on and slicked himself up, he wastes no time grabbing Cas’s hips, tugging him further down the bed. Cas’s legs have remained stubbornly hooked around him this entire damn time, so Dean hitches them a little higher as he settles against him, and then, at another firm nod from Cas, Dean guides his cock to Cas’s entrance and carefully, begins to push inside.

“Again, pinch me if you need me to stop,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Cas’s throat, but Cas just nods again, head falling back against the bed back with a sigh. Dean starts inching in as slowly as he can manage, and after a moment, Cas shifts slightly, arms circling Dean’s neck, gently pulling him closer. “How’re you doing, Cas?”

Cas just squeezes, rolling his hips a little, the motion drawing Dean deeper, and Dean moans, struggling to hold himself back.

“Me, too, sweetheart. I’m doing fucking fantastic.”

Cas smiles slightly, but it’s small, distracted, and Dean can tell he’s still adjusting, still feeling out the difference between this and Dean’s fingers. He’s beautiful, though, dark hair curling damply over his forehead, breaths shallow and sweet through parted pink lips, the flush in his cheeks spreading down his whole body, and Dean doesn’t kid himself that the pressure on his cock as he slowly buries himself inside of Cas is the only thing making his stomach feel tight.

“Gorgeous,” he offers, fighting to catch his breath as Cas shifts again, trying to get comfortable. “Thought so since you moved in, Cas. Just so goddamn gorgeous.”

Cas bites his lip, eyes slipping shut, and then he starts moving, slowly rocking his hips, and Dean helplessly thrusts a little harder, sinking in a couple inches all at once. Cas hisses, body twitching around him, but then he starts moving faster, more insistent, and Dean jerks forward the rest of the way, bottoming out in one smooth glide.

There’s a choked-off gasp, what seems like every muscle in Cas’s body pulling taut. Dean waits, panting against his neck, shifting on his elbows so he can bring a hand to Cas’s face, to lightly stroke his cheek.

“You okay, Cas?”

Cas turns into Dean’s hand slightly in response, eyes wide and breaths shallow. Dean can feel him, spasming around Dean’s cock, thighs clamped tightly against his sides, and he just keeps petting Cas’s face, quiet as he waits.

Finally, Cas draws in a slow, deep breath, relaxing underneath him, and Dean feels the muscle give, Cas’s hips giving a careful, experimental push upward.

Dean huffs, thumb sweeping over Cas’s bottom lip.

“Careful, Cas,” he warns, but Cas ignores him, wriggling down and thrusting back up, using his legs around Dean’s waist for leverage, and Dean groans. “Cas.”

Cas sighs and arches in answer, relaxing even further, and when Dean experimentally pulls out a little, slowly pushing back into the tight, wet clasp of his body, Cas’s heel digs in.

So Dean does it again, rocking in and out at a snail’s pace, and since Cas takes it without complaint, pressing back against each stroke, he takes a deep breath and starts moving faster.

“Stop me if it’s too much, okay?” he whispers, deepening his thrusts, and Cas nods and twists beneath him, urging him on. He’d been nervous, when they started this, that Cas not being able to talk might be a problem, might mean Dean couldn’t read where he was at, couldn’t be sure if things were okay, but he shouldn’t have.

He can read Cas just fine, and right now, Cas is asking for more.

Dean gives it to him with pleasure, pulling out and pressing back in, pausing for a filthy grind at the end, one that has Cas’s breath hitching, hand clamping down on the back of Dean’s neck as he tightens around him. Dean feels like he’s on fire, can’t help but move a little faster, thrust into Cas a little harder, and the way Cas lets him, rolls his hips and clutches at him, slick and hot as he opens up on Dean’s cock, is enough to have Dean worried.

“Not gonna last,” he mutters, recklessly burying himself inside of Cas, anyway, snapping his hips and relishing every sharp gasp it punches out of him. “Feels too good, Cas, you feel amazing, better than I ever could have imagined—”

A searing wave of heat rips through him, frustrated and wanting, and Dean’s rhythm stutters as his head drops to Cas’s shoulder, gritting his teeth against the onslaught.

“Good,” he hisses. “That’s good, Cas, that’s exactly how it should be—”

Cas does it again, wild underneath him, wrapped tight around Dean in every way he can be, and that heat coils deep within him, an exhilarating kind of torture. Dean shifts to one elbow, working a hand between them and clumsily circling Cas’s cock, roughly jerking him as he starts up a ruthless pace, slamming into the sweet clutch of Cas’s body, and Dean can tell by the way Cas’s breath changes, short and fast as he arches and twists beneath him, that he’s doing something right.

“Yeah, Cas, just like that, take what you want, you can have it,” he pants, relentlessly fucking into him, Cas trembling through every thrust, the rhythm of his hips erratic as he helplessly jerks between Dean’s hand and his cock, eyes shut tight. “You’re so close, sweetheart, it’s gonna feel so good, just let go and come for me, okay, you can do it, it’s okay, just let go—”

And just like that, Cas’s body locks up, eyes flying open, nearly black with desire, and Dean surges forward as Cas clamps down around him on a quiet, desperate gasp, and then he feels it, feels him spasm and twitch and come between them with what Dean swears to God is a _whimper_ , spilling hot over his hand, and the combination of sight and sound is pretty much all Dean needs.

He buries his face in Cas’s shaking shoulder, stifling a moan, and thrusts into him one last time as finally, he lets himself fall.

&&&

Dean hears Cas’s voice for the first time ever, a little while later, when Cas has turned breathless and soft and Dean is still trembling from the aftershocks, overwhelmed by sensation and clinging desperately to the warm, sated body underneath him.

It’s a moment he knows he will never, ever forget.

“Dean Winchester,” Cas says, voice rough and dark and completely unexpected yet so very, very right — “You are an _idiot._ ”

Of course, the awe at hearing Cas speak — hearing Cas _say his name —_ only lasts about ten seconds before Dean realizes what he actually said.

“What? Wait, _what_? How am I an idiot?”

Cas opens his mouth, but then reality hits Dean, and he scrambles upright, gaping.

“Hold the fuck up — _that_ was it? _That_ was the sincere gesture of true love? They gritty-rebooted _The Little Mermaid_ and we had to fuck for you to get your voice back?”

Cas frowns.

“No? Dean, that’s not what happened.”

“Really? Really, Cas? ‘Cause it seems to me like you regained the ability to speak right around the time you had your first orgasm, which tells me whoever makes the rules is a sleazy fuckin’ _pervert._ ”

Cas has the nerve to look fond, reaching out to gently pull Dean back down.

“Dean. It didn’t have to be sex. It can be, depending on the circumstances, but it’s never a requirement.”

“Then why were you trying so hard to have sex with me?! I thought — I thought you were scared I wouldn’t want you without it, and then I thought you were naive enough to think _you_ actually wanted this, so — so which is it?”

Coloring, Cas averts his gaze.

“I — well, I certainly wanted to.”

Which makes sense, sure, especially based on the last hour, but Cas is very conspicuously not having a meltdown right now, and Dean wants to know why the hell he’s so chill about this.

“But _why_?”

Cas clears his throat.

“Well — sex is — it’s an intimate thing, for many humans. I was told that, even when performed casually, there’s a possibility that it will lead to, um. To deeper feeling.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I . . . I was hoping that, if we — that physical intimacy might, well — speed the process along.”

Dean blinks, letting that sink in.

“Holy shit,” he finally mutters. “You sneaky bastard.”

“I didn’t mean to be duplicitous,” Cas says hurriedly. “I didn’t — I never thought the feelings manifested would be _insincere._ Just — I was on a very strict timeline, Dean, and I couldn’t _tell_ you anything, and you didn’t seem to be as immediately taken with me and I was starting to panic—”

Dean flops onto his back with a groan, and Cas cuts off, anxious.

“Are you . . . angry?”

“No, Cas, of course not. I mean — maybe I’m a little frustrated, because I — it looks like you made up your mind ages ago, and you’ve basically just been _plotting —_ but you still did it because you thought you had to in order for the bond to work out.”

“I didn’t think I _had_ to,” Cas protests. “It _was_ the most appealing among the available strategies, however. But then you kept rejecting me, and — and it felt like proof, that you weren’t ready. That you wouldn’t be.”

“Three months isn’t a lot of time,” Dean points out, and Cas just looks at him, sad.

“ _I_ knew. I knew within days of watching you.”

Dean’s brain sort of stalls, at that.

“You . . . what?”

Cas tilts his head.

“What?”

“You . . . watched me? I thought you just — saw me at the station and chose me on a whim.”

Cas looks incredulous.

“It’s true that I was drawn to you, the first time I saw you, and my decision was considered hasty by the vast majority of the host — but it wasn’t completely baseless. And even though I knew within days, I spent much longer than that watching over you.”

“You _what_? How long is ‘much longer’?”

Cas shrugs.

“One hundred days. That’s the rule. I’m not allowed to make a choice before then, and once I do, I’m bound to see it through.” Cas looks at him, intent. “One hundred days for each of us.”

“That’s insane,” Dean utters, not sure what else to say, and Cas nods slightly.

“I understand. As I said, your experience was not reflective of my own.”

Dean’s mouth falls open.

“But you’re with me, now,” Cas hastens to add, shifting closer. “And that is what’s important. I — I had resigned myself to it. That you wouldn’t. That I would never see you again. Until what you told me yesterday, about poor Ariel — I’d given up hoping.”

Dean swallows, an ache in his chest.

“Well, you’re just as stupid as me, then. I’ve been with you for a while now. Probably longer than I even realized. I mean — Cas, I let you _move in_ with me. After two days. What the hell did you think that meant?”

Cas shrugs, cheeks flushing.

“You have a good heart, Dean. I could never be sure if you were kind to me because you’re _kind,_ because you perceived me as a being in need of aid, or if you liked _me._ I — Dean, I couldn’t _talk._ ”

Dean’s frustrated as hell, but he’s getting that Cas feels the same way.

“You did pretty well, anyway.”

Cas hesitates.

“Yes. Yes, but — I couldn’t be sure. And the last thing I wanted to do was risk parting from you just because I hadn’t been proactive enough.”

Dean nods slowly, his biggest concern returning to the forefront.

“But why’d you follow through with it? After I told you that I — I’m in this. I want it.”

Cas looks confused.

“I told you. I wanted to do this with you. Whether it triggered the Bond or not. _Especially_ when I thought our time was running out and we would have to separate, I wanted to have experienced this with you.”

“But — but _why_? Aren’t you going to regret it? I — that was fucking awesome, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t understand how you could think it was worth it.”

There’s a long, tense silence, and then Cas goes rigid.

“Dean. Dean, you — I thought you understood.”

“Understood _what_?”

“I don’t lose my powers if we have sex. No one cares if I fornicate on earth, though that is difficult to do without a human form.”

For a moment, all Dean can do is stare.

“But — but — _what_? But the book said—”

“My _brother_ wrote that book,” Cas informs him darkly. “And while I understand his residual grief over our other brother’s fate, the fact remains that he had no right to try and sabotage me. Especially when my other siblings delivered that book to you with good intentions.”

Dean’s about to ask, but then he remembers the weird librarians and he feels like a moron for not wondering about it sooner.

“So . . . the whole book was a lie?”

Cas huffs.

“No. No, almost all of it was truth. He wanted you to believe in it enough to believe in _everything. That_ , however — he was confident you wouldn’t accept it. That the bond would fail because of it.”

“Lots of people don’t care about sex,” Dean argues, and Cas shrugs.

“He told me people like you would. In fact, he’s the one who encouraged me to try that approach in the first place.” He grimaces. “I spent the evening yelling at him and discovered that if you _did_ take the opportunity, despite knowing what you supposedly knew, he hoped the Bond would register it as selfish disregard for me.”

Dean feels a little better, actually, knowing that Cas storming out had nothing to do with him.

“Didn’t even occur to me to be scared of that,” he admits. “Mostly I just — you seemed so naive when you got here, and I didn’t know if you understood what you were doing.”

Cas pauses.

“It’s true that I might not have thought that was worth it,” he admits. “I would give up my powers, if that were a condition of being with you — but not for the pleasure of the activity. And not if you asked me to for that purpose, either.”

“I wouldn’t.”

Cas nods.

“I know,” he says softly, reaching out to touch Dean’s cheek, and Dean gets a little lost for a moment, just looking at him.

“So, uh. Are we . . . Bonded, now?”

“The thread is there,” Cas says, surprising him. “But not yet. It takes many years for the Bond to fully develop.”

“That wasn’t in the book,” Dean complains, and Cas makes a face.

“Gabriel hoped the pressure would discourage you.”

“Gabriel’s a dick.”

“He was, in his own way, trying to look out for me — but yes, Gabriel is a ‘dick.’”

Dean snorts.

“So weird, hearing you call someone a dick.”

Cas squints.

“Dean, you call people ‘dicks’ all the time.”

“You sayin’ you picked up my bad habits?”

“Yes,” he agrees bluntly. “I knew very little about humanity before coming to stay with you, so it’s not as though I’d know the difference.”

“So fucking practical,” Dean grouses, though he can’t quite hold back a smile. “I knew that about you. ‘S’cool, actually. That I knew that.”

Cas smiles back, and Dean enjoys a pleasant minute of staring before another thought occurs to him.

“So . . . all the shit you refuse to do yourself. Making me open your car door, or wash your hair — what was that all about?”

The smile seizes up, somehow, and Cas averts his eyes.

“Cas?”

“That. That, um.” He coughs. “I . . . I’m very sorry, Dean. I don’t — I have no explanation for that.”

Dean raises his eyebrows.

“Well, you didn’t do it randomly. C’mon, man, what gives?”

“I don’t — I don’t know. I just — I honestly didn’t understand, at first, but then—”

He stops, embarrassment plain in his face.

“But then?” Dean prompts, rolling over so he’s partially covering Cas, pressing him down.

Cas swallows, finally meeting his eyes.

“I liked it,” he whispers. “When you did things for me — pointless, unreasonable things — I liked it. I — it made me feel very good, Dean. Even when you were irritable about it.” He bites his lip, then confesses: “Especially when you were irritable about it, I think.”

Dean doesn’t know whether to be annoyed or delighted.

(He's delighted.)

“Well. _Well._ ” He licks his lips. “That’s pretty damn human of you, Cas.”

Cas looks hopeful.

“Is it? That — it’s normal?”

“More or less.”

“What does that m—”

“The important thing,” Dean continues, leaning in closer and relishing the way Cas inhales sharply. “Is that I kinda like doing pointless, unreasonable things for you, too.”

“Oh.” Cas blinks, breaths tellingly short, all the sudden. “And — that’s normal?”

“More or less.”

Cas squints.

“I don’t understa—” he starts, so Dean kisses him until he does.

Or at least, until he forgets to care.

“You know, he was gonna get you a _cat,_ ” Jo tattles over proper-get-to-know-you beers at the Roadhouse the next night.

Cas turns to Dean, eyes round and hopeful.

“You were?”

“Yep,” Jo answers for him. “Asked the whole damn office about big romantic gestures, and we all agreed rings were dumb and cats were awesome, as long as they were cute. Well, and a thing the receiver actually wants.”

Cas frowns.

“But all cats are cute.”

“Way to pick ‘em, Dean,” Jo chides, slapping the table. “Anyway, what’d you end up doing to get his voice back? You fight a seawitch or something?”

Cas perks up.

“I understand that reference,” he interjects. “That was a good movie.”

“Her Dad was kind of a dick and they’d only known each other three days, but I agree, it was pretty decent. Anyway. Gesture. Shoot.”

And yeah, Jo’s like a sister to him, and telling her a good old fashioned romp in the sheets did the trick is a little embarrassing.

“We had intercourse,” Cas explains helpfully, then adds, “Of the sexual variety.”

Her mouth falls open.

“Oh. Uh. Cool. That’s . . . nice.” She pauses, looking thoughtful. “Actually, that’s really sweet.”

At that, Dean just barely manages to find his voice, because come _on._ This is _Jo._

“Sweet?” he echoes, and she nods.

“Yeah. You finally respected him enough to let him decide for himself. I don’t think you can call it love if you still think you need to make his choices for him.”

“But — you think it was because — oh.”

Dean was surprised it had been that easy, though he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, but that—

“Son of a bitch.”

“Interesting,” Cas agrees solemnly, and Jo lifts her beer.

“Well, here’s to you guys getting your soulfreak on—”

“That did not happen—”

“And procuring enough convincing ID Jody washed her hands of it all. And left early with a headache.”

“She has a sinus thing,” Dean protests, clinking bottles anyway, and Jo smirks.

“No, she was just tired of your boy drama taking up department resources. How’d you swing that, by the way?”

“My brother owed me,” Cas explains.

“Damn right, he did.” Dean pauses, considering. “Although — if it weren’t for him and your librarian siblings—”

“They’re actually not—”

“I don’t know if we would have made it.”

Cas gives him a sharp look.

“We would have made it sooner,” he insists. “He nearly ruined it.”

“He _did,_ yeah, but without the book — I’m not saying I’d never have gotten there, but it wouldn’t have happened by the deadline.”

Cas looks frustrated.

“You would have,” he declares, scowling. “I refuse to believe that assbutt in any way facilitated our union.”

Jo cocks her head.

“Huh. So you guys are like, married now?”

“Uh. No. And to be fair — actually, no. Nevermind, you’re right; he’s a dick.”

Satisfied, Cas turns to Jo.

“Does your mother have any more ‘tequila shots’?” he queries, and Jo grins.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Dean stupidly agrees to participate in a drinking contest which he and Jo lose miserably, and he’s distantly alarmed to wake up as Cas is easing him into bed a little while later, no memory of how they got there.

“God _damn_ it.” He reaches out, gripping Cas’s arm. “Cas. You didn’t fly me, did you?”

Cas pauses.

“ . . . No.”

“Cas.”

“You were unconscious.”

“Cas, did you knock me unconscious so you could fly me home?”

“I don’t know how to drive,” Cas insists, petulant.

“Then you should have called a cab!”

“Jo says taxis smell strange.”

“Uh-huh. And did Jo have you fly her home, too?”

Cas frowns.

“Well, it would have been rude not t—”

“That _asshole._ ” Dean glares. “You, too.”

Cas huffs, crossing his arms and looking toward the ceiling.

And then he glances back, an odd light in his eyes.

“Actually — I suppose that _was_ . . . inefficient.”

“You think? We’re gonna have to take a bus to go get Baby.”

“Sorry,” Cas says mildly. “The better thing to do would be to return you to sobriety.”

Dean blinks.

“You can do that?”

“Yes. I wasn’t sure you would want me to. You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

“Fair. I probably was."

“I could do it now,” Cas offers, studying him, and Dean blinks.

“Yeah? I don’t mind sleeping it off.”

Cas nods.

“If you wanted to sleep.”

It takes him a second, but Dean gets there.

He swallows.

“Well, what else would I do?”

Cas’s brows lift, though the telltale flush is in his cheeks, and Dean struggles not to grin like an idiot.

“I was hoping you would tell me,” he confesses, quiet and strangely earnest, and yup, Dean is grinning like an idiot.

“I can’t believe I actually get to _keep_ you,” he declares happily, and Cas beams, crawling into bed in one swift motion.

“You do. As long as you want to.”

And Dean’s almost positive the answer to that is ‘forever,’ but he keeps it to himself, for now.

Because as it turns out—

They have some time, after all.

\- end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark humor: Dean asks Jo for advice about Cas wanting sex when Dean has reservations; she first suspects him of having had unprotected sex and contracted an STD (in reality, STDs are not funny, and while having unprotected sex is often careless, people still don’t deserve to get sick because of it). Jo also questions his decision to seek advice from her, stating that she’s worse at this than Dean is. Dean protests that she can’t be worse than he is, since he was raised by a ‘single drunken father,’ to which she reminds him she was raised by a single mother in a bar, which devolves into comparisons and Jo saying, “We’re one-for-one on dead parents.” None of this is meant to indicate inferiority of single parentness (parenting is a matter of quality, not quantity), nor is it meant to make light of the loss/absence of a parent.
> 
> Attempted Rape/non-con: Michael asks for help moving a bookcase, then insists on sharing a beer to catch up. Unthinking, Dean drinks it, and it turns out to have been drugged. Michael takes him to the bedroom and Dean passes out. (Nothing happens, however, because Cas comes to the rescue.)
> 
> Brief discussion of bottom!Dean: Dean and Cas have decided to have sex, and in laying out the options for doing so, Dean includes both choices for penetrative intercourse, though Cas indicates he doesn't care and Dean opts to top.
> 
> **It is suggested by some characters in this chapter that _not all cats are cute._** If you are sensitive to anti-cat rhetoric of any kind, please beware.

**Author's Note:**

> ** SPOILERS ** 
> 
> The attempted rape/non-con tag: Michael is Dean’s neighbor, and he expresses unwanted interest in Dean. There is an incident toward the end in which he asks for Dean’s help carrying a bookcase up to his apartment, where he insists they catch up over a beer. Dean drinks to be polite, but it turns out Michael has put something in it. He falls unconscious as Michael is ‘helping’ him to a bed, and wakes up in the hospital, feeling stupid/responsible despite knowing the incident is not his fault. He is informed, then, that Cas thwarted the attack and subjected Michael to a severe beating.


End file.
